I’ve known for quite some time that there is something different about me. Not “wrong,” perhaps, but slightly amiss for a woman on the cusp of her thirties.
Friends, it’s time to familiarize yourself with a condition known as Little Old Woman Syndrome (LOWS). Optimally, this affliction does not manifest until midlife, but we can’t all be so lucky.
There may be physical symptoms—a spot of arthritis here, a random chin hair there, the occasional bout of dementia—though the more prominent indications are behavioral.
If you can relate to any of these, you may be suffering from LOWS:
- Pesky kids playing on your lawn? Send the vicious-sounding dogs outside to scare them away. Works like a charm.
- PBS airs The Lawrence Welk Show at 5pm on Saturday nights; you know because you tune in regularly.
- You’re asleep on the couch before seeing the weather forecast on the ten o’clock news.
- You find the musical stylings of Glenn Miller and Bing Crosby more appealing than those of the Biebs or Ke$ha. (okay, okay, some of the time)
Some days I wish I was more “hip” like others in my peer group. Mostly, though, I appreciate my case of LOWS because it’s like keeping a foot in my grandmother’s world while appreciating mine. Some people are bicultural due to their ethnicity; I prefer to think that I’m bicultural in a generational sense. And besides, I manage pretty well. I don’t yet smell like mothballs, and I get all the pop-culture references that Captain America misses. I can appreciate the classics as well as newfangled trash fraught with sparkly vampires.
I’ll decline treatment for my LOWS…but I wouldn’t mind finding a support group.