Smile, you’re getting old!

By Évelyne Wilwerth

Surely a woman who chooses a white rat as a pet and calls him Mr. Loverat is worthy of our attention. Ginny is slightly crazy – she takes her rat to a posh restaurant! And she jumps on the helter-skelter ride of life. In this fun and questioning journey from Ginny’s 45th to 62nd birthday, we eavesdrop on her musings and her conversations with friends and family as she weaves a path through the obsessions of a generation that does not want to accept that we all grow old. {Guernica Editions}

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guernica
• Release date: Jan 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781550715866

Évelyne Wilwerth

Évelyne Wilwerth was born in a 19th century villa in Spa, Belgium. At thirty she left teaching for a writing career. She has written for the theatre, as well as novels, essays and children’s fiction. The original version of Smile, you're getting old! (Souriez, vous vieillissez!) has been performed in both Europe and North America. She lives in Brussels.

Book preview

ÉVELYNE WILWERTH

smile, you’re getting old!

Translated by CHRISTINE TIPPER

Drama Series 30

GUERNICA

TORONTO•BUFFALO•LANCASTER (U.K.) 2011

1

Ginny, a middleaged woman, is standing in her livingroom. She opens the French windows and bounces onto the balcony, which has many flower pots on it. On the balcony is a lounger with a table beside it. On the table is a bottle of sun cream. The balcony overlooks the street.

Ah, there you are. Each time you arrive without any warning. It’s so magical, so violent . . . each time so violent. I love that . . . spring. Welcome! Welcome to you, my fortyfifth spring!

Let’s celebrate!

She tidies her balcony, moves the flower pots etc.

But who dares to tickle my neck? Who dares to brush against my shoulders? Is that you, sun? Tell me, sun, I want to ask you a question: What do you think of my window panes? They’re so dirty, aren’t they, eh? Really dirty?

She starts cleaning the balcony windows.

Dirty? No, filthy! As each year goes by they get more and more filthy! But where does it all come from, this ghastly stuff? Will all windows be completely black one day? Completely blacked out? Will the planet be wrapped in a black skin one day? And you, sun, will you be extinguished one day? Will you die one day? Will you be a black sun one day? But I can see you don’t care! As I speak, you’re dancing on my balcony . . .

Ginny settles on her lounger and gets out her sun cream.

And now the ultimate treat! Oh, the joy of the first sunbathing session! Wearing a brandnew bikini! Okay, yes, these colours are a bit loud, but I couldn’t find anything better. And I was upset. I’d been moaning in the changing rooms and almost strangled the shop girl. A 34C! 34C! Can you believe it, sun? When I always have worn 34B! I felt this enormous eruption inside me . . . and look at this body – white, pale and bleached . . . the skin of a nun in a convent! It looks like the skin of a dead body! Breathe some life into it, sun!

She puts on her sun cream.

My ankles, slim ankles, very smooth legs, my slender legs, well, more or less slender legs and my hips, I love the sway of my hips and my adorable little tummy – eh? What’s that I feel? A little bulge? A sort of suspicious swelling? A sort of small hillock? A growth? A monstrous bloating? A molehill? No! My stomach has always been concave! Concave not convex! And my pupils who always confuse the two words . . . no! I won’t have it! I’m not going to make a mountain out of a molehill! I’m going to keep smoothing it away! It’s that