Rock-Conner, Teen Idol

Man reading

“Hey, girl!” Angie whispered in her friend’s ear. “See that old geezer in the gray sweater? You’d never guess, but that’s Rock-Conner!”

“Are you sure?” Tammy stared at the broad back of the older man reading a paper. “It can’t be.”

“I’m certain.” Angie squeezed into the booth across from her friend. “I got a good look at him when I came in. That is indeed Rock-Conner, our teen idol.”

“But Rock-Conner was skinny as a string bean! And remember his wild mop of hair?”

Angie snorted. “Thirty-some years ago. I saw an article about him recently; apparently he still sings at charity events.”

Tammy chuckled. “My older sisters always swooned over him. My cousin Janet even vowed she’d marry Rock-Conner someday. And remember his wild psychedelic outfits?” Tammy noted the man’s subdued attire. “Whatever happened?”

“Hey. Remember OUR wild outfits, funky flowers, platform shoes? Back when your hair was naturally red?”

“And I remember when your nickname was Twiggy.”

Angie rubbed her well padded hips. “Before my three babies.” She sighed. “Life is cruel.”

Tammy eyed the elderly gent — her teen idol — now staring out the window. Was he recalling those years, too? “I think I need another latte.”

“Second that. Then maybe I’ll go sign up at Fresco Fitness.”

Dear Readers,
I have a birthday coming up: at the end of this month I turn 65. So you may be seeing more Getting-older type tales and poems in the next few weeks. 🙂

The Look

Another Wednesday has come and with it the prompt for Friday Fictioneers, the rule of which is to gaze at the prompt until inspired, write our tales and trim them down to a bare-bones 100 words. Then participants shall post their stories and link our posts to all the others via InLinkz.

“Muchos gracias” to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this menagerie of writing talent, and today for also supplying the photo prompt. To read what others have written, or to add your own, you need to find and click on a blue frog. You’ll find one on Rochelle’s blog, but alas, I can’t get the things to survive on mine.

I like to write humor, but this morning’s picture made me think of something other. Since the basic facts here are true, I guess one would label this story Creative Non-fiction.

PHOTO © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

THE LOOK

Zanna stared into her mirror. “Lose another five pounds,” her photographer had said. “You can do it!”

This time she’d resisted. “Don’t men want women curvy?”

“Designers want spaghetti strands with a smile, sweetheart. Curves I can add digitally. Long and lean brings the best fashion shoots.”

At 5ft-11″ and 105 lbs Zanna could count every rib. I could start selling organs, she thought wryly, those that still work. She opted for skipping more lunches and jogging longer.

“She’s got the look.” The ad words struck her funny as she eyed her reflection. She laughed until she sobbed.

Old Grandma Shoes

OLD GRANDMA SHOES
Author Unknown

When I was very little
All the Grandmas that I knew
Were wearing the same kind
Of ugly grandma shoes.
You know the kind I mean. . .
Clunky heeled, black, lace-up kind,

They just looked so very awful
That it weighed upon my mind,
For I knew, when I grew old,
I’d have to wear those shoes.
I’d think of that, from time to time
It seemed like such bad news.

I never was a rebel,
I wore saddle shoes to school,
And next came ballerinas
Then the sandals, pretty cool.
And then came spikes with pointed toes
Then platforms, very tall,

As each new fashion came along
I wore them, one and all.
But always, in the distance,
Looming in my future, there,
Was that awful pair of ugly shoes,
The kind that Grandmas wear.

I eventually got married
And then I became a Mom.
Our kids grew up and left,
And when their children came along,
I knew I was a Grandma
And the time was drawing near

When those clunky, black, old lace up shoes
Was what I’d have to wear.
How would I do my gardening
Or take my morning hike?
I couldn’t even think about
How I would ride my bike!
But fashions kept evolving
And one day I realized
That the shape of things to come
Was changing, right before my eyes.

And now, when I go shopping
What I see fills me with glee.
For, in my jeans and Reeboks
I’m as comfy as can be.
And I look at all these little girls
And there, upon their feet
Are clunky, black, old Grandma shoes,
And I really think that’s neat.