Phoebe Kate

My mother-in-law is now permanently and officially on vacation, having moved into a “senior vacation residence” (aka old folks’ home), a momentous event upon which I mused at length here last November.

She seems to have adapted well to her new environment.  She’s made friends, goes to Bingo and gambles with funny money on Casino Night, and is now in cahoots with some other residents to request the management that Cocktail Hour be made part of the social schedule. 

More importantly, she’s also eating three square meals a day, something she really wasn’t doing when she was on her own.

So this afternoon she gives me a call and after about a gazillion hours of mostly one-sided chatter, I glance at my watch and finally get a word in edgewise: “Hey, isn’t it time for you to go downstairs for dinner?”

“I’m skipping dinner tonight,” she announces. 

I inquire why on earth she’d do that.  She says, “Because I’m gaining weight living in this place.”

So I remind her, “When you lived alone, you complained you were losing weight.”

So she says, “Well, I was.  But now I’ve gained TEN POUNDS.”

Ever-practical, I ask, “Do your clothes still fit?”

 ”Yes,” she replies.  

“Then you have no problem,” I assure her, then urge her to go have something to eat in the interest of good health.

“Well, all right,” she begrudgingly sighs.  “But I’m skipping dessert.  I don’t want to get fat!”  

The way she says “fat,” you’d swear she’s talking about getting leprosy or ebola.

I got off the phone and wondered why she’s so into self-denial for the sake of vanity at this point in her life.  Dessert is the favorite part of her meal.  She’s not on the prowl for a new husband in the retirement community (one husband was more than enough for her.)  And even if she were, it’s not a promising hunting ground.  There are virtually no men there.  The statistic about women outliving men is accurate.  Just check out a “senior vacation home” near you and see for yourself.

Plus my mother-in-law is ninety-three and looks and feels every one of those many years.  A cougar she definitely ain’t.

As a woman, I can understand wanting to keep up appearances.  It’s normal for teens and twenty-somethings to want to be hotties.  Thirty-ish women need to keep a competitive edge.  Forty-ish women with kids aspire to Yummy Mummies, not dumpy, frumpy mummies.  In your fifties and sixties and seventies, you strive to maintain your health and look well-preserved.

But for a nanogenarian — whose days on this earth are not only numbered (as is everyone’s) but could also be estimated (give or take a year or so) — to fret about keeping a girlish figure (when it’s been seven decades since she could be accurately termed a girl) is just plain crazy.

If ever there was a time when eating dessert first is totally justified, when you’re ninety-plus has got to be it.

And maybe, come to think of it, that’s not a bad prescription for the rest of us, too, regardless of our age.  Like the old song goes, “Be good to yourself/it’s later than you think.”

~ phoebe kate