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.
Well,
pooh.
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.
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