If you go to clubs, you’ve seen The Last Woman Standing. She’s a woman with the body that looks her age in a dress made for an early twenty-something physique. Her dress is too short (and often too cheap) for her grown woman frame. Her heels are too high for the dress, which often makes her get-up cross the line from sexy to slutty. She’s got a face full of make-up, but still not enough to hide her age lines. Her hair is in the latest teenage style. If she were to dress (or act) appropriately, she’d look and be great “for her age.” But because she is among the kids (anybody under 25) and attempting to blend in, she looks like she’s trying too hard because she is. When The Last Woman Standing sings along, she doesn’t know the lyrics, only the chorus. When she dances, it’s either too hard, or a two-step among a crowd of folks getting low. When she gets low, it’s never as far down as anyone else, or God forbid, she gets all the way down and needs assistance getting up. She hasn’t accepted that the club belongs to people who are young, not just those that are young at heart. (And so it doesn’t seem like I’m bashing the ladies, “she” also has a male equivalent, usually a zuit-suit wearing mofo with some grey in his over-groomed beard and a colored- in or receding hair line.)
For years, I used to see her every time I went out, but over time I saw her less and less until one day I didn’t anymore. I always wondered where she went.
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