Getting older is not something I dwell on. I can’t entirely avoid it like I could even four or five years ago, but it’s not constantly on my mind. Thankfully, because if it was I probably would have stuck my head in the oven long ago. But yesterday Michelle, over at The Green Study wrote a thought-provoking post on aging.
She was talking about some changes she’s noticing. Not that she’s old, by any means. But like the rest of us, time’s marching on.
I’ve got to say until the last year or so I didn’t really notice myself getting older. It’s amazing what we can block out of our minds, isn’t it? Well, okay, I agree, it’s hard not to notice some things. Like menopause. But I know young women with crow’s feet and laugh lines. And even grey hair.
Look at Anderson Cooper. Yes, I know he’s a guy. But he’s still young and his hair is pure white. That’s my only point here.
Where was I anyway? Yeah, there comes a point when your memory starts to go. DON’T PANIC. It doesn’t mean you have a serious medical condition. Some memory loss is normal as we — you know — are you really gonna keep making me say it out loud — you know — start piling on the years.
Oh, I remember now. I was talking about wrinkles. Nasty word, don’t you think? W-R-I-N-K-L-E. It even looks unpleasant. The word. Written out. Let alone how they look on your face. (sigh).
Anyway, my point was — and is, for that matter — aging can be subtle. It kinda creeps up on you. Maybe you gain a bit of weight, you can’t get rid of. Maybe you start to see some grey hairs here and there. Just thank your lucky stars if you don’t find them on your chinny-chin-chin. Sticking straight out of a mole or something. One long, stiff, dark, impossible-to-ignore hair. Or two. Or a couple more. And if you do, FOR GOD SAKE DO NOT YANK THEM OUT. THEY’LL MULTIPLY. Go to a professional and get rid of them properly.
All right, all right, so maybe your ass is a bit closer to the ground than it once was. But certainly not enough to panic just yet. So your thighs have a bit of bounce. It’s not the end of the world. How often are you in a bathing suit? And maybe your breasts don’t quite make it into the room before you do, any more. But they’re not all that far behind. You’re still looking good. And it’s amazing what a properly-fitted bra can do. Ask Oprah if you don’t believe me. She’s done shows on the subject.
So breathe. Take some nice, slow, deep breaths. Right …
Like I was saying, the changes aren’t that obvious. At least for a while. And then. You go to bed one night feeling terrific. Full of energy. Full of zip. Full of piss and vinegar. Raring to go. Not a care in the world. Not an ache or a pain.
And by God, you wake up the next morning and, as you’re rolling over in bed, you get a shooting pain in your hip. Or your knee. Or your shoulder. “What’s this”, you mutter to yourself, still half asleep. What the bloomin’ hell!! I’ll be damned!!
Yeah, baby. The party’s over. It’s all downhill now. Your body has become a better predictor of the weather than the cable guy, who’s been staring at high-and-low-pressure-systems for the past twenty years. You know when it’s damp. You know when it’s humid. You know when it’s gonna rain. You know when to get out the heating pad, the liniment, the Tylenol, the antacids, the laxatives and the truss for your hubby. You know because your body tells you. Your suddenly showing-signs -of-age body. Your suddenly feeling-its-age body.
Shoot me now.
Yeah, baby. Get ready. Here it comes. Lift and separate bras. Anti-aging serums for your skin. Cold-pressed green juice for you. Vitamins for women fifty plus. I kid you not. Go to Whole Foods and they’re right there, on the shelf. Slimming, butt-lifting, tummy-flattening, jeans, designed specifically for, uh, how do I put this delicately, for, the more mature woman. As in, you’ve really got to stop trying to cram yourself into those low-rise, low-slung jeans your daughter wears.