I'm beginning to see I may like this old woman stuff better than I thought I would. There are advantages, as I have started to notice.

For one thing, I'm invisible. That comes in handy since I've given up on makeup, and I can't keep up with the whiskers on my chin. During Covid number one, my hair got long and stringy. I got it cut as soon as it was safe to go outside again. But now it's getting all stupid-looking again, and we're in Covid number two, which is worse here than it was in the last surge. So I don't want anyone looking at me closely — or at all.

Oh, hell, yes, it was. I'm so invisible now that they look around for who dropped that dirty word when I cuss in the grocery store or wherever. It couldn't possibly have been the little ole lady, so they look right over me. But it's nice to get away with it.

I have not learned to be a sweet old lady yet. I'm still a little bristly…especially with all those chin whiskers.

No, really, I try to smile at the children of people who are letting them run wild, but I think it comes out more like a grimace or a snarl. Grannies like me are supposed to love all the children. But those little, uh, kids, drive me crazy. Sometimes when I'm shopping, and children are running all over, and the ones who aren't running amuck are screaming bloody murder, I want to hijack the loudspeaker and tell all parents with children to quickly evacuate the building. They don't need to know it's only me that's about to explode.

I know…I need to be a kind, patient granny type at my mature and supposedly wise age. But I'm not. I want to yell that I've raised my kids, and now I don't want to listen to yours.

Do you know what the worst thing that can happen in a restaurant is? When you sit down in a booth for a quiet meal and some kid in the booth behind you keeps climbing up close to your head and trying to talk to you. I wouldn't mind a quick hello, and I usually first smile and comment on how cute the kid is. But then it doesn't stop. The kid keeps trying to get my attention. After a bit, the little hellion is yelling, "what's wrong with you?" Or, "why do you have those lines and spots all over your face?"

Are there no parents sitting in the booth with them? Can they not see their kid is annoying the dickens out of me? Do they still think I'm smiling and thinking their obnoxious offspring is still cute? I'd like to stick some broccoli in that kid's mouth. See how they like that.

Even now that I'm invisible, I'm not that invisible. Kids generally see me and then come on to me expecting to make me act like a proper old lady, and both they and their parents think I should be more grandmother-ish, I'm sure. But I'm not. I'm an irritable ole broad with a bad attitude. Just because we got old doesn't make us sweet. At least it doesn't, in my case.

But, other than kid situations and being ignored, and things like that, I'm finding this old lady thing to be a pretty good gig.

Nobody expects too much of me, and if I decide while riding in the car to stick my tongue out at the kid in the next car over, probably no one will see me. Even if they do, they'll just think I have dementia and look away.

Hey, I could even start waving and winking at good-looking guys. They'd probably not see me, but even if they did…well, granny ain't right.

Since I've come to terms (mostly) with turning 70 this month, things I'm finding to my liking include not being expected to babysit. I'm too old, I say. And I don't have to run errands for anyone. Heck, I don't even have to run them for myself if I don't want to. Nobody expects the old lady to go get eggs when we run out or pick up her own prescriptions. I'm not even expected to fill up the car with gas.

And in another astonishing development, people just don't expect as much of me now that I'm almost 70.

Today, for instance, I never got dressed. I just sort of forgot. It's hot as hell, and clothes didn't appeal to me. So I wore my light cotton housecoat all day with only my granny panties underneath. Nobody in the family seemed to notice. They don't notice when I dress up and even put on lipstick, but they also don't notice when I lay around in my housecoat all day. It's not so bad being old and invisible.

That's if you stay away from doctors. If you let them examine and take blood samples and all that sort of thing, they'll find something wrong with you. I've learned most things go away on their own. Even the doctor, when I do see him, doesn't expect much of me and doesn't bitch about my bad habits like he once did. He knows I'm hopeless, and I won't listen. I don't cotton to letting doctors do all the testing and examining they want. Believe me, they'll find something if you let them poke around too much, and not everything they find can be fixed. So, it's best to just stay away from them.

I know people my age who spend most of their time at one doctor's office or another. That insurance is paying, and some doctors will keep looking for ways to make more money off you and your ailments. I know it's risky not wanting to regularly see the doctor and get tests, but life is risky.

I saw not too long ago where a lady that lived to an old age agreed with my feelings about doctors. She said to stay away from them and eat a piece of dark chocolate every day instead. I'm going to follow her formula. There's also that famous photo of the 104-year-old lady sitting in front of her birthday cake with a cigarette in her hand.

Things are getting easier. Nobody fusses if I go take a nap in the middle of the day because, by golly, I'm old. Nobody much notices if I ignore the conversations at the dinner table. I'm usually not expected to clean up the kitchen after dinner anymore. We live in a multi-generation household, and a lot less is being expected of me. Because, of course, I'm about to turn 70, and they think that is older than dirt.

My flower beds are grown up in weeds, although I did try with the flowers in the spring. But it's too hot outside for me now, so nobody judges me because the flower garden became a weed bed. When I was younger, I would have been ashamed. People now think poor ole me is too old and fragile to tend to the flowers in hot weather. I'm old, and everyone knows older people's bodies don't cool as efficiently. Mine works just fine. But I'm not going to go around broadcasting it.

That's what I tell husband, too, when he notices I've bumped the AC down a couple of degrees. We're old, I tell him. The heat is terrible for us. He goes back to the TV and lets the AC run. It works.

So many things are easier once others begin to see one as old. Not much is expected of old people, I noticed. I've learned, too, that I can say the most audacious things, and they kind of look over me. My daughters will say, "MOM," but that's about all. So I say something else that they find inappropriate. It's kind of fun.

The young ones think I may drop dead any day. And boy howdy, you can get some mileage out of that. Heck, I might. Drop-dead, I mean. Who knows? But it won't be my problem if I do. Someone else will have to deal with all that funeral nonsense. Because then I won't just be too old. I'll be too dead.

And I'm not worried about that in the least.