With tall black boots that cost a weeks pay.
And I shall buy fast cars that are useless
And cheap wine that matches my favorite lipstick.
I shall sleep late and work overtime and carouse
And eat chocolate cake, spilling crumbs on my plumping thighs.
I shall talk on my cell phone in public places
And spend and charge rather than save for old age.
I shall wear 3-inch heels rain, sleet, or snow
And eat strawberries from grocery displays.
And learn to sew.
You can wear dangerously low-cut shirts
And nibble salads and curse the scales
Or inhale a pint of Ben & Jerrys after a breakup
And have an endless array of earrings without mates.
Later, we will fatten our 401(k)s
And buy houses in suburbs and SUVs
And teach ourselves to knit and bake cookies for the kids.
We must rise early and avoid fried foods.
But maybe I ought to exercise my better judgment
So friends and relations are not too relieved
When I reach middle-age and retire my pink skirt.
Based on "Warning" by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobrietry of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickles for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
