I have come to the conclusion that with each birthday that passes I change even more - and might I add it’s certainly not for the better. Now I realize that as we get older we can’t expect to still be able to wear that size 3 pair of jeans from high school nor can we expect not to have a wrinkle here and there. But jeez! I swear I think all of me is falling apart!
My eyesight is horrible! I have “squint wrinkles” from just trying to see what the guide says on the Direct TV so it’s a hit or miss when I select a channel to watch and if I’m lucky it’s something that I like to watch and not an episode of Teen Mom that just gives me the heebie jeebies thinking about what if….?
My hair has been colored so many times that I can’t even remember what the color was that God intended for me to have – but I don’t think He minds me changing it up or otherwise He wouldn’t have given me L’Oreal. Every time I look in the mirror a new gray hair stands out like a sore thumb. If I didn’t opt for the color in a box kit I’m quite certain within 6 months I would be a perfect stand-in double for Cruella DeVille.
And speaking of hair – what the heck is up with having to tweeze your chin hairs more than you shave your legs. I mean really?? Where do those things come from? It’s like you go to bed with a perfectly smooth face and wake up with enough facial hair to make a representative from Sally Hansen drool with the prospects of their stock in wax strips rising as she looks at you.
I have always practiced the self-diagnostic theory for my excuse not to go to the doctor and if I did it was simply for a second opinion of my own diagnosis. But at my age I have no disposable organs left and the only ones I do have are the black market ones. I have more aches and pains than Carter has liver pills. So now I have no choice about going to the doctor since I don’t have the capability to write my own prescriptions. But to be honest you feel worse after you go because your entire time of waiting for your exam entails you reading every chart on the back of the door and the walls of your room and in your mind checking off each and every system and by the time you leave you have already started making notes for your will on the back of a coupon you find in your purse.
I have never had the body of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition model but what I had was better than the “before” Weight Watcher’s poster child figure that I have now. I mean face it when you startle your own self when you look in the mirror after you get out of the shower it’s evident that you don’t spend enough time exercising. Exercising???? When I do have time to do Zumba or Jillian Michael’s last chance (straight out of hell) workout I feel like I’m going to require a hip replacement. But in my mind the workout that I get from putting my socks on usually seems like exercise especially after a few episodes of a "simulation of what blacking out from the lack of oxygen is like" that I get when I bend over.
Oh and I almost forgot (how ironic is that) my lack of memory. And I’m not referring to forgetting where my car is parked at Wal-Mart. I’m talking forgetting that I’m going to Wal-Mart WHILE I’M DRIVING THERE. I don’t forget the little things like appointments or someone’s phone number. It’s more like forgetting to pick up your own kid (and not on purpose either). Or putting mascara on set of eyelashes and forgetting the other and having women looking at you with their heads tilted sideways wondering why you look like a bad example of a spokesperson for Maybelline.
Of course I suppose that with all these things wrong with me it does beat the alternative of not living a rich full life. I guess if I had googled and researched more the “effects of middle age” I wouldn’t be so shocked at all the “perks” of getting older.
