Down and Down Some Grow

My husband insists he’s still 6’1” because his pants aren’t dragging on the floor. I insist he’s close to 5’10” because I’m not straining my neck to look at him in the eye and he’s now the same height as Atlanta Son—who officially turns middle-aged this week so is obviously beyond his height growing years. I informed Hubby that his bones don’t shrink, which is why he still is wearing the same size shirt and jeans. It’s the spaces in-between the vertebra that close up as you age — at least’s what I’m told which is why the inseam of shirts and pants don’t change.

When it comes to my height, it is another issue. I lost half an inch and that is it. During the past year I’ve noticed peers who once towered over me are now my height. Others who were once my height and now up to my chin. It’s weird. Why aren’t I shrinking at the same speed? None of us have any physical problems that would cause friends my age to be dropping height while I’m not. We all take the “right” vitamins and eat well.

I am now looking for logical reasons for the lack of shrinkage. Could it be that I’ve always stretched almost daily? Some, not all of my friends do, so that rationalization doesn’t go far. How about the fact I’ve always had close friends years younger and being surrounded by those younger than me not only keeps my thinking young, but my body too? It’s not genetics. Ma went from 5’2” to 4’10”. Dad dropped inches also. Also, my older sister is no longer inches taller than me and big bro isn’t so big anymore.

Or could it be that I am Alice in Wonderland and will one day wake with a full head of gray hair (it’s still 95% black/brown) and be inches shorter? Did art imitate life in the book?

You can ponder the reasons and let me know. I’ve got to do my daily stretching!

Cocktail Hour at COSTCO

Today Hubby and I officially became full-fledged, stereotype, seniors. We were out on errands all afternoon – our last stop being COSTCO – right before the dinner hour. I usually shop in COSTCO early afternoon or at night, so I was not aware that late afternoon was “Cocktail Hour.” Occasionally I see samples when I shop in the early afternoon, but never to the extent that they had them that time of the day.

It was almost as if from the time I entered the store until it was time to check out, a different course of a 7-course menu was along my usual path. From cheese on crackers, nuts, a tiny taste of lasagna, goodies were everywhere. Best of all was the whole-wheat breaded tilapia. (It was so good, we went back for seconds, then thirds, and finally brought two packages to take home.)

Hubby was disappointed there were no samples in the wine section. “After all, what’s a good cocktail hour without wine?” he asked.

Someone overheard him. “There may not be wine, but the dessert makes up for it,” she said and pointed to a lady doling out samples of chocolate.

As we loaded our car, I started to laugh. “Do you remember how years ago we made fun of my parents and their friends who only ate at the early-bird specials?”

He nodded.

Well, it’s not even five and we’ve already eaten.