Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Aging Sucks, Revised

I have removed all reflective surfaces in my house, drawn the shades against the sunlight, and use only low-wattage bulbs. 

I buy skin lotions by the vat and refuse to go outside during peak ultraviolet hours. I wear only loose, dark-colored clothes, long sleeves (even in summer), and high necklines. 

I foster a symbiotic relationship with my internist and dentist, consulting in secret over intimate and, heretofore, chaste body parts that have stopped aging and are starting to erode.

I have a love-hate relationship with elastic. I love how it makes clothes easier to slip on and off, but hate that I no longer have any of my own - everything sags and nothing perks. 
I am a Boomer and I am aging, and like Dylan Thomas once advised, I am not going gently into this phase of my life. 

My lenses are getting thicker along with my waist and behind. My skin is thinning along with my hair and temper. My once sexy voice has slowed to a slower RPM and there is distinct catch in my cadence. 

Instead of “cute,” people dare to call me “spry;" instead of "hot," men call me "cute." 

The worst part of all of this, I have what I call the "Betty White Curse." On any given day and at any given time, I am usually the oldest person in the room. 

I am okay with this for right now. People still notice me and include me in their conversations.  They ask my advice.  The real clincher will be when I am just part of the furniture and everyone talks about me the third person. When that happens, I am going to bat them with my cane. 

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