Soon

Soon I will be a grandmother. When that occurs, I will start wearing elastic-waist pants and I will blame it on the baby, not Pringles. I will cut my hair short and tease it in order to hide all the new, patchy, bald spots that the birth of my grandchild will conjure. I will eat dinner at 4:00 in the afternoon - dinner that will consist of canned peaches and cottage cheese atop a bed of lettuce. I will tuck my shirt into my elastic-waist pants while yelling, "Land sakes!"

I will yell things like, "Mercy, Child!"

I will bother company about having more dessert and I will wear orthopedic shoes with kneehighs. I will smell like powdered old people, and cottage-cheesed peaches. I will tuck my pants into my knee-highs while calling, "Does anyone smell that?!"

I will wear floral-print shirts and let my gold rings spin beneath my arthritis-swollen knuckles. I will eat ice cream for dinner and tell everyone I just don't eat much anymore.

I will disapprove of all music besides Lawrence Welk and the greatest hits from Hee Haw. I will take trips to Branson, MO to see the Baldknobbers music show and prune my lips when my husband makes dirty jokes about their name. I will fuss, "Not in front of the baby!"

I will spoon mashed potatoes into my grandson's mouth while asking if he ever gets a proper meal at home. I will hint, gently, that he isn't getting enough protein in his diet and that his clothes smell of cat pee. I will say this even though Luke and Jennifer don't have a cat - because it is my duty.

I will pry into everyone's business while tucking my cottage-cheese stomach into my elastic-waist bed of lettuce. I will dye my sparse hairs red and cover my bald spots with peaches. I will fuss at Luke for disciplining his own son, while asking if everyone would like more lemon meringue pie.

I will crotchet lime green baby booties for Levi, plus also a cute little noose - then cry when Jennifer takes it away from him. I will act like this new generation thinks they have all the answers and are better than us for disapproving of a good, old-fashioned noose now and again. I will say, "Why, Luke and Ben hung each other all the time and look how they turned out."

I will keep a bowl of Werther's candy and hard peppermints on my coffee table. I will argue with Jennifer when she says the baby can't have another Sprite. I will act hurt and cry a little, using the crumpled-up tissue I always keep in the pockets of my elastic-waist, cottage-peach pants.

I will awake at 4:00 in the morning on a weekday, tuck my peach-lettuced cheese into my elastic-waist cottages and wait around to call people at 10:00 a.m. I will say innocently, "I wasn't sure you'd be up yet."

I will set up an egg dying table on Thanksgiving and shoot fireworks on Easter. I will trip on my wrinkled knee-highs in a Fourth of July sack race and have to be rushed to the hospital. While awaiting surgery, I will worry about whether someone put away all the boiled eggs. In the recovery room, I will tuck the elastic-waist hospital blanket into my hospital gown while yelling, "Glory be!".

::Sigh of contentment::

Obviously, I have found the secret to aging gracefully. (There's a reason to live 'til one hundred-twenty after all.)