I used to be hot. I could walk into a room and the music stopped, heads snapped around to get a better view, and women knew they had been outmatched.
Yes, I used to be sizzling. Even when the pounds started pounding and the years started whizzing by, I still had my groove.
I was a Ten before the world even had the decimal system. (Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but you get the picture.)
Then all of a sudden, I lost my groove.
Instead of “Hey, Baby,” winks, and ogles, I started getting a lot of “Yes, Ma’am,” frowns, and respectful regards. Instead of men blocking my path to bug me about my phone number, men rush to get the door for me because I remind them of their grandmothers.
I went from Groovy to Grandma in a matter of years.
I blame this durn gray hair. I should never have stopped dying it. I was going to “make a statement.” I was going to “age gracefully.” I was going to “accept the inevitable” with a smile.
I want my groove back. I want someone other than my dear husband and loving children to think I am beautiful. I want someone other than my grandkids to see me at a distance and skip for joy that I exist.
Sure, sure. I still get an occasional leer. Some old gent will notice me at the doctor’s office, but I used to get that kind of look for the sway of my hips and not because I saunter in without a cane or a walker.
I want my groove back and while I am wishing for the impossible, I would like to lose twenty lbs off my weight and ten inches off my waist.