I hate being a cliché.

It wasn’t that long ago that I would have started with the PMS stereotype, in which along with the flood of rage and raw emotion I also felt like cringing for being so predictable, but now that I am kind of cranky, bitchy and a little paranoid all the time, this stereotype is less relevant. As I tell my husband, I am now empowered to tell it like it is more than three days a month. How is that not a good thing?

A few years back, when I was trying to be a good pet owner and help my cat get some exercise, I took him out on a leash regularly. I found the experience boring. To entertain myself during the long stretches of time Cat-tabulous wanted to sniff a twig or watch a dog sleeping in a yard a block away, I brought along my crocheting. To protect my face from the sun, I wore a floppy hat. I was one ugly cat sweatshirt (okay, and maybe five cats) away from being a crazy cat lady.

Crazy Cat Lady School

Oh, I still take the cat out (#catonaleash) but now I look MUCH less crazy, scrolling along on my smartphone in a baseball cap. Yes, that IS TOO much less crazy.

In the past year I have found that I fit two new-to-me dreaded stereotypes, the 1.) out-of-touch older parent type who tries to have culturally relevant conversations with the younger generation and FAILS painfully (I managed to get Seth MacFarlane mixed up with both Seth Rogen and Seth Meyers in the SAME conversation,) and the 2.) horrifying older person who pulls out a photo of herself with a celebrity and shows it around at a family gathering, and then forgets and does it AGAIN WITH THE SAME PEOPLE AT THE NEXT GATHERING.

This is a blurry picture of Bill Nye the Science Guy and me.  Yeah, we were hanging out at the Minnesota Science Museum last November. We do that.

This is a blurry picture of Bill Nye the Science Guy and me hanging out at the Minnesota Science Museum last November. We do that.

(Note to Reader: Now that I have officially shown off to the world, I have retired that photo from my phone. You will have to return to this post to relive my brush with stardom, because I won’t be able to show it to you when I see you at the grocery store, Thanksgiving Dinner, or the cat supply warehouse.)

How many steps is it from where I am now to becoming a doddering fool? I am looking forward to the phase where I no longer care, because the sooner I start enjoying the slide, the happier my declining years will be. I picture me cackling, with many, many cats.

10 thoughts on “Cliché

  1. Carrie Rubin

    I always said I’d never be one of those women who had to dig in her wallet for exact change to avoid collecting too many coins. Well, I am now one of those women. I feel your pain…

    1. lynnettedobberpuhl Post author

      But the coins are so HEAVY, you must get rid of them. Do as I often do, throw it in the car cubby. Because if you pay for your drive-through ice cream with car cubby coins, it becomes stealthy–no paper trail. Probably less calories that way, too.

  2. kvalleryy

    Never, ever will that happen to you, classy lady! And due to your heredity, unfortunately, even if it did (I repeat never, ever) you will never get to the phase where you no longer care–at least not for another 27 years or so.

  3. kerbey

    Just please don’t write CHECKS in the check-out line. I ate w/ some 65-70ish co-workers last week and noticed THREE were in purple (one in velvet) and every last one of them had blinged out purses–bedazzled to high heaven, like they’re JLo. The LAST thing I want to do is draw attention to myself. So if you’re pulling that Bill Nye pic out of a rhinestone purse–head’s up–you might be nearing your early hundreds.

  4. KerBear

    Hey, it sounds like a blast. Can I be there with you? Bling, cats, crazy ladies, and dancing just ’cause you feel good.

  5. raeme67

    Funny stuff! Am now following your blog. I am bit envious, because secretly I am in love with Bill Nye the Science guy.


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