Get the picture? … by Sherry Hopkins

I recently turned 59. The average life expectancy for a woman in this country is 83 or thereabouts.

So I am 20 odd years away from my demise. I don’t have a problem with that but time is gettin’ really short. I have so many things left I want to do. I have yet to see the aurora borealis, spit off the Empire State building, cry at the Vietnam War Memorial. I have not cruised down the East Coast in a convertible while gazing at the ocean.

I haven’t sailed or climbed a mountain or wondered at the vast Montana skyline.

Those are all-important things on my list to do before I leave this life. Lifetime goals that seem to get further away from completion the closer I get to death.

Of course I’m not so naïve as to think I couldn’t be hit by a gravel truck tomorrow, leaving my long list of objectives undone.

These days however my goal is simply to keep my bosom sitting exactly in between my shoulders and elbows. I learned this recently while watching a show that tells women how to dress at any point in life, and for any occasion.

After hearing this enlightening declaration I ran to the mirror to see where I was so to speak.

Gravity was working well in my case and I fell a little “low” as it were.

My childhood and early adult frame of reference for bosom positioning came of course from my grandmother and Dear Don’s grandmother. So it is with those references I have relied and perhaps “dropped the ball.” Or boobs.

My paternal grandmother had no breasts. She had breast cancer in her 60s and had both breasts removed. Gravitational pull was never her concern.

And neither was it for Dear Don’s grandmother who allowed her ample bosom to rest upon her apron tied loosely at her waist. Gravity had long ago taken hold of her chest and placed it near her knees. She could not have cared less.

So I thought, I would like for my grandsons to have a different frame of reference when they remember me. I don’t want to be known for my boob placement.

So I wrangle myself into an elastic booby trap that touts itself, as gravity defying and making me appear youthful. And, truth be known, youthful is a bit of a stretch and perky has long been gone. So the goal today at 59 is to keep them exactly half way from elbow to shoulder.

I have long given up worrying about the admiring glances of men or wearing a two-piece swimsuit. I just don’t want to be hunched over with two boobs pointed towards the soil and swaying parallel to my chest. Neither do I want them lying flat and lifeless on my waist.

So, I’ll keep “hangin’” in there, to see if I can get this task accomplished in my 59th year. And then it’s onward and upward, hopefully, to the greater goals of my life.

You get the picture.

(Contact award-winning columnist Sherry Hopkins at swhcsc@wildblue.net.)