Stories I Never Finished

Four years ago, my husband and I moved from our home in Northern California to Los Angeles–a temporary change of scenery dictated by a lucrative work-related project for him. While we were there, I started—and never revisited–a couple of short stories about the move and the culture shock of being an older/mature/seasoned woman in the land of youth and beauty. I offer them here…now…because perhaps if I see them in print, I’ll be inspired to add a few hundred more words…

And We’re Off…

“Pack up the Buick, baby, we’re movin’ to LA!”

The words filled the house as my husband burst through the door, a grin of utter self-satisfaction on his face.

Never mind that we don’t have a Buick. His message was clear nevertheless—he had just received word that he’d won a large environmental contract with Los Angeles County, and we were on our way to southern California.

***

Crone Among the Roses

I’m 57 years old, my hair is dark, and I live in Los Angeles. Loosely translated, I think that means I’m an alien.

Every day, everywhere I go, I’m faced with youth and beauty. It doesn’t matter if I’m at the gym or the bank…the dry cleaners or the grocery store. If there’s another female present, odds are she’s a blonde with an unlined face and a tight butt. That’s not to say they’re all younger than me. Far from it. Some of the smoothest faces I’ve seen are on women several years my senior.

Youth. It’s not just for the young anymore.