To be clear, I love my job. I do important work for an organization where people are truly committed to making this city a better place. I work reasonable hours for good pay and my boss is one of the smartest, kindest, and most appreciative people I have met in close to a decade in New York City. With that behind us, wouldn't it be really great if we could just skip the next fifty years of working, raising ungrateful children, struggling to keep our marriages alive and instead just move in with our best friends like the Golden Girls? We could make sex jokes and go on dates with old men who own boats and never have pregnancy scares (but the occasional STD scare, as Rose learned in one memorable 'sode).
I did some scary math today. Retirement ages are creeping up and if our generation is lucky, we will retire by 73 or something like that. I am going to be ungenerous to myself since I'm bad about adding to my 401K and assume I can do so at 77, 50 years from now. There are 260 weekdays per year and about 10 federal holidays. 250 days x 50 years is 12,500 more days of work. If you are as lucky as I am to work only an eight hour day, those 12,500 days x 8hours is ONE MILLION more hours of work in your life. Are you really ready for that? My answer is, "Holy shit, no no no no no no!" And don't even pretend that vacation days mean anything anymore. The smartphone has sealed our fates in that department.
Golden Girls don't work! They play! Bingo and other card games! I could learn em all!
And then there is finding a suitable partner. It's a terrible, exhausting pain, amirite? Dating involves pretending not to be batshit for MONTHS at a time and SHOWERING, sometimes twice a day. Who has the energy?
Moving in with my best friend and gabbing while one of us makes a casserole instead of blowing my hair dry every evening and then spending hours pretending not to be crippled by neuroses and self-esteem issues for at least five dates sounds like just like a dream! I'll even learn to make casserole! Dating would be a sometimes-and-just-for-fun activity (unless you're Blanche, and I'm not much of a Blanche) not the exhausting and defeating affair it is for the modern gal in New York.
Then there are children. Some people are afraid or put off by screaming babies and whiny toddlers. My aversion to children is much more to do with them becoming hopelessly sullen and less-cool-than-they-think teenagers. Hand me a screaming baby any day. But a kid that thinks it's rock n roll cause it can name a Joy Division song, COUNT ME OUT. Avril Lavigne circa 2002 being the ultimate nightmare. Those gloves! That smirk! I simply won't be able to handle it.
In Golden Girl life, your children are long-gone or they are awesome grown-ups like Dorothy who look out for your health and wear fabulous brooches. Give me that grown-ass Dorothy as a daughter any day. The ungrateful other ones can just keep the Hell out of Florida or have an uncomfortable (but single-episode) visit from time to time.
My friend Meghan and I have decided to not participate in the next fifty years and simply move in together as old ladies. We're not sure how we'll pull it off yet but your input is most welcome if you decide to join us! I consider myself a Sophia personally. Unsure who Meghan wants to be, but we have two spots open. I have some great curtains picked out.
Take us out, Andrew Gold.