When you reach this wonderful 40+ phase of life, there are people, customs and articles of clothing that you’ve decided, finally and firmly that, you know what? I am SO over that. I can’t and won’t stomach it any longer — and I don’t need to.
These things might seem innocuous to other people, or even delightful to others, but you’ve decided you’ve had enough and you’re finito. And you don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.
Let me caveat this first by saying that of course I’m SO OVER hatred, injustice, racism, sexism, homophobia and world hunger more than anything on this list.
But this is not that list.
It’s hot. I‘m cranky. Allow me to flex my inner curmudgeon.
I am so over…
- Any summer festival where indoor plumbing isn’t readily available.
- My under-the-bed bin of “someday” clothes. Marie Kondo, much love.
- People who don’t let you leave before they enter. Manners!
- And while we’re on manners — impatient restaurants.
- Kombucha on tap at coffee shops.
- Going out on the weekends. Hello, Sense8 marathon. Hello, naps.
- Hair mousse
- Imagining I will ever get to that huge box of random photos and sort them into lovely acid-free-paper-separated albums.
- People on the street with clipboards asking me for stuff. “Excuse me? Ma’am?”
- Musty thrift store clothes. Once they had their place of treasure and polyester-drenched irony. Now, I like things with all buttons attached.
- Bedazzling. And while we’re here, vagazzling. I don’t think there is a man alive that looks at a woman’s genitalia and thinks, “You know? That would be so much better with diamonds.”
- Bikini waxing. The single most painful experience of my life. Actually waxing in general. My eyebrows have officially stopped growing. So there’s that.
- I have never and will never have time for you, 5-year-old mud mask in my beauty cabinet.
- Shakespeare in the Park. I know, I know. And I’m a Public Theater member. But long, long lines + August heat + NYC? Just, no. Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep: even you will never trump that dismal stew.
- I am so over forever and ever LINES.
- Thong, th-thong thong thongs.
- My landline. Finally.
- Nosebleed seats. Old eyes, people. The one thing I’ll splurge on is a good view.
- Letting other people make decisions for me. Nope.
- Keeping quiet when something doesn’t sit well with me.
- Evernote. Right, it’s supposed to “save my life.” Even my Mom is trying to convince me. I just can’t get with it.
- Jean shorts, gauchos and culottes.
- Uncomfortable shoes of any kind.
- Eating peas. An aforementioned parent used to make us eat as many peas as we were old. I will never eat one pea, let alone 48.
- Feeling guilt over the books I still haven’t read. Infinite Jest, you will haunt me no more.
- True Detective.
- Doing the dishes. I have never owned a dishwasher, but it’s time.
- 700-word emails. Call me.
- The fake “Let’s get coffee” salvo. We are never getting coffee together, so let’s just not.
- The broken elevator in my office building.
- Ear cuffs. I just think about them and feel all skin-crawly.
- Designer purses with bag fat designer names on them. What’s the point?
- George Clooney.
- Sad, but never again for my poor knees.
- Worrying about the money I’m spending on my daily green ice tea. (“You could retire with all the money you’re wasting.”) So many little life luxuries and daily rituals are worth it right now.
- Apologizing profusely.
- People who promise to do something and then disappear.
- The term and concept “FOMO.” I’m fine with missing out.
- D. R. A. M. A.
- Lists that don’t afford me the opportunity to change my mind. So…
OK, now I want to know: What are you #SoOver? Hashtag it and tell us on Twitter (or even better on Instagram with a photo) or just below in the comments. Age is a beautiful thing.