Panty Hose and Perms

As I walk around campus running errands for work, I have begun to see the demographic of the campus change. People are in the hallways laughing, catching up, getting ready for class. The only difference? About 50 years.

It is indeed "Lectureship" season on Harding's campus, a time when ladies named Ezmeralda and Priscilla are allowed to roam the Student Center selling incense and special potions to cure your ailments. Any traditional hymn you've ever dreamed about can be yours with the purchase of a King James bible and a cassette tape.

You can also spend your morning staring incessantly at the cryptic Christian t-shirts, wondering if your salvation depends on whether or not you grasp the deep meaning hidden behind their obscure symbols. I put my vote on an open tomb on the hoodie to the far left.

My friends and I were at McAllister's last night and watched the two tables behind us. One table was full of older ladies and the table next to them was filled with their male counterparts. It became quite apparent that the women were humorously recounting their husbands' recent goof-ups, while the men attempted to explain why women do the things they do. One man, when he saw that his wife was chilly, went out to the car and brought in her jacket. Precious.

Basically, I love older people. I guarantee if you just listen to them, your life will instantly become better. As I have walked around today, I have just seen how excited they are. They are reuniting with old friends, and going to class is an amazing time to brush up on the Bible and learn new things.

All of this makes me wonder what I am going to be like, Lord willing, in 50 years. And how will my friends be?

I have been sitting here, picturing my closest friends and I at the "Lectureship." This is what I have decided:

I am going to be fabulous.

I am going to wear frilly hats, fancy scarves and lots of jewelry. I am not going to limit my stories or censor them because after 50 years of crazy moments, I deserve an ounce of redemption by being allowed to talk your ear off.

I am going to buy pink jogging suits and join a gym. And take water aerobics and wear a swimming cap.

I am going to buy a red convertible and whistle at the youth parked nearby as I speed past them, my floppy straw hat blowing in the wind.

I am going to back up out of parking lots without looking. Because I am allowed to do that.

I'm going to learn to tap dance and win the grand prize in Bingo.

I am going to wear a ring on every finger and I am going to smell like the rose garden I have in my backyard.

I'm going to drink tea, attempt to watch the news and then realize that laughing is more important and change the channel.

I'm going to wear curlers in my hair to Wal-Mart and a housedress just because I want to.

For a girl that is so worried about what everyone else thinks, I sure can't wait for the time when I don't have to care anymore.

For a time when people will let me have my way and say, "That's just 'ol Mrs. Ashton for ya."

Bring on the panty hose and the perms. I can't wait.