Calling All My Future Golden Girls

I enjoyed Golden Girls when it first aired, but the Girls seemed 100 years old to me then. Now that I’ve hit my 40s, straitlaced Dorothy, her mom Sophia, promiscuous Blanche and forgetful Rose don’t seem as far out to pasture as they once were in my mind. While I do not want to hurry through these years of diapers and teenage angst with my beloved children, I’m thinking these women were ahead of the game.

A slumber party every night with your besties? Where do I sign up for this?

The more I mull it over, the better this retirement plan gets. We could start a grandma co-op, spoiling each others’ grandchildren with love and affection. It pretty much guarantees an ample amount of grandbaby hugs with far less pressure on each of our biological children to visit. And just think of the financial benefits! It’s quite economical to pool our limited resources, saving on multiple mortgages, purchasing bulk Depends underpants and going back to sharing clothes like we did in high school. We won’t even remember whose outfit is whose anyway.

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I find myself silently interviewing my friends for possible members of my spinster gang. Those of us who are divorced, the future widows, the lone wolves, all may apply. Is she a slob? A hoarder? Oh, she snores? But she sews, which could come in handy. This may seem a bit Sister Wife-ish, but I’m on the lookout for someone who can cook, or at least bake pies. A green thumb will be needed, because I envision a garden in this granny paradise with fresh fruits and fried green tomatoes. But the real shoe-ins are the funny ladies, because we all know how important life’s laugh track is.

There will have to be rules at the Old Maid Utopia, as it’s not a brothel, nor a sorority house. Keep your man business at his place and your partying elsewhere. See, I’ve got plans to do some serious sleeping, and I’m waiting for my kids to be grown to catch these zzz’s. I’m thinking deep, drool-dripping-down-my-chin sleep, so I will not stand for shenanigans or holding your gray hair back while you vomit. I’m already too old for that nonsense.

See, The Golden Girls is what happens when Disney fairytales end, after happily-ever-after is over. Prince Charming has passed away, run off with another princess, or maybe he just never showed up. The kids have grown into functioning individuals from your most excellent parenting, having survived without being too messed up. Yet there is still a whole lot of living to do.

We don’t have to become an invisible, aging harem under Harry Potter’s cloak, fading each year until we feel completely transparent with each wrinkle that graces our once smooth skin. The last chapter can be as spectacular as each decade before, and we can embrace it together as granny ninjas frolicking into the night. Bad ass!

In all seriousness, I want to live with the friends who will travel down the road and back again with true hearts, and those who will be pals and confidantes. And if I threw a party, invited everyone I knew, I really am not concerned about how big your present is. In fact, I don’t want a present at all, as I’m trying to declutter and embrace a more minimalist lifestyle. Instead, I’ll take an adventure, your time, your presence and your friendship over any box wrapped in a pretty bow. I truly will thank you for being a friend.

So my question is, Will you be one of my Golden Girls? Let me know in about 25 years. I’ll hold a spot for you, and when it’s time, we will get this pajama party started.