She’s twenty-three, but she’s an old soul. She’s lovely to look at, but has the soul of a seven-thousand-year-old, immortal time goblin. Just a really old soul.
Her soul wasn’t always old. She used to have a young soul. People would just say, “She’s seven. Her soul also appears to be seven.” Now the age of her soul is heavily emphasized, right before lengthy descriptions of her beauty.
I’d wager that her soul is thousands of years old, whereas your standard, run-of-the-mill, regular-aged soul is often just in the three digits. Old souls have a wise air about them and a resigned confidence that comes from dying hundreds of times before being reborn into the body of someone people want to date.
She may not look very old, but inside her physically firm body is a soul with one of those long, wispy beards that falls into soup. Her soul consumes a lot of soup on account of no longer being able to chew. When people use the expression “feed your soul,” hers probably thinks, Mmm, soup.
Her soul wears a wizard cloak and lives in a tree where it makes potions. She can’t tell you about the potions because they’re ancient and very secret, but, rest assured, they’re potions that only an old soul knows, like for getting blood out of a saddle or for making different types of soup. Again with the soup. Such an old soul. Young souls aren’t privy to such potions. They can only pour vodka into a watermelon.
Her soul is so old, it remembers when bell-bottoms were literally just the bottoms of bells. It remembers when “TV” was just the letters that came before and after “U.” Her soul has had a subscription to A.A.R.P. the Magazine for longer than you’ve been alive. You don’t even want to know what nightmares it endured to get into discounted movies before A.A.R.P. Those wretched memories are an old soul’s cross to bear.
Actually, her soul is so old that it remembers when there were no magazines, and all there was to read were cave drawings on a wall. You wouldn’t believe the typos. Following bear tracks straight into the mouth of an active volcano all because of a typo will definitely age a soul.
She’s such an old soul that she uses slang words from a different era. She says things like “houghmagandie” to mean sex, which her soul no longer has because its genitals have atrophied. Her genitals haven’t atrophied, of course—just her soul’s. These days, her soul is more interested in the early-bird special than sex. I’m pretty sure her body likes sex the regular amount, though.
One way you can tell that she has an old soul is her eyes. She has cataracts. Usually cataracts develop with age, but, as is typical with an old soul, she was born with them. The first thing the doctor who delivered her said was “Look at this baby. What an old soul. She’s going to need eye surgery.”
Her soul is so old that it can’t log on to its computer without making a phone call. Her soul owns two pairs of prescription glasses that it can’t find, even though they’re both on its head. Her soul got kicked out of Fleetwood Mac and then was asked to rejoin Fleetwood Mac and then was kicked out again. That’s how old it is. Eventually, her soul launched a solo career that was embraced by the Top Forty soft-rock-radio community. Her soul remembers voting for William Howard Taft, despite not being in the habit of voting for liberals. But it learned its lesson after endorsing Genghis Khan.
One day, her old soul will finally be inside an old body, too, and people around her will think, What a weird old lady—she seems so bitter.
