DATING MYSELF

My friend Cindy sent to me an email that gave a run-down on whether or not you could tell you grew up in the 80s.

I K.N.O.W. I grew up in the 80s ... I've got the emotional scars to prove it! But geez, to have to relive the ugliness of it all in the email, AND fess up to the fact that, yes, in fact, I did wear jellies and side pony tails ... well, that's just more than my tattered self-esteem can take.

The fact that I danced like a crazed lunatic (nothing much has changed in that area) to the lyrics of Cindy Lauper's GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN with sky high bangs, I am sure has no bearing on the fact that I've not had the pleasure of male companionship in ... well, let's not talk numbers here.

And I'm quite certain that if I'd not tried to match my shoes to my belt to my earrings (the size of small dessert plates, mind you), as well as layering my socks and my polo shirts every single day for the duration of that nightmare we call a decade, I wouldn't be now, in my mid-30s, just beginning to get out of my black phase and wear cheery colors or any color, for that matter.

I am sure the 80s had nothing to do with the maladjustments I am now working through ... nothing at all ...

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