Aging. It’s a taboo subject in the good ‘ole US of A. Youth is worshiped; old age is dreaded. It hit me a little later than some. I was carded until I was almost 40. Now they chase me with a senior discount. LOL
My 50s were my best decade. When I turned, 60, though, that bitch of an old age fairy let me have it but good! Everything started to sag, bag and droop. . . or so it seemed. If you haven’t experienced this yet, it’s coming to a theater near you. Here’s a bit of a humorous look on how to know you’re getting old.
Turkey wattles and other loosey goosey stuff. . .
This is probably the first thing I noticed. Everything got looser, for lack of a better word. Me and the Thanksgiving turkey have a lot in common these days, especially around the neck area. And it seems that no matter how many times I go to the gym, there are way too many dangly bits hanging about. For more on this phenomenon, check out If You’re Old and You Know It Flap Your Arms.
The pup ain’t the only one who needs pee pads. . .
And speaking of things getting loosey goosey. . . my friends used to call me a camel because I could hold it all day long. Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 🙂 At the mildest urging I start looking for facilities. I know where all the public bathrooms are in town and the exact distance between them. Tena pads are great. But wait. . . there’s more in the loosey goosey department!
Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro. . .
I think it was Maya Angelou who said that her breasts were having a race to see which one would get to her waist first. Well, I think mine have achieved that goal and are now eying my knees as their next challenge! I am not particularly large (C cup) but. . . it’s getting very uncomfortable without a bra on these days. And that side boob action. . . I could kill small children with a single blow if I swing around too fast!
By the hair on my chinny chin chin. . .
There is an old joke that says an older woman’s hair thins as she ages so she can pay more attention to the hair on her face, or words to that effect. True Dat! The hair on my body all fell out about 10 years ago and what there was of it was blonde and red. It’s nice that I no longer have to shave the legs and pits, but the hair on my face is getting worse. AND to add insult to injury, that hair is black. I have tweezers and razors all over the house.
Slowly I turn. . .
Well, slowly I do everything these days, or so it seems. I was a real dynamo way back when. I spoke fast. I moved fast. I thought fast. Today it’s like. . . . well, it’s not fast. Oh, I try to move fast, but. . . fast and me no longer have a relationship. Both my body and brain go into giggle fits when I give it a go. I forget what I’m going to the kitchen for before I get there. It takes me twice as long to do things. And I trip over my own tongue trying to get thoughts out in the right order and with the correct verbiage. The little girl who still resides inside of me puts her hands on her hips with a bratty, “I DON’T WANNA SLOW DOWN!!!” Sadly, I have no choice. . . or else.
These are just some of the joys of the golden years. There are a lot more, but you know what? Living to a ripe old age means you’ve done just that, LIVED. Years ago, I saw a tag line on someone’s email that I’ve seen many times since. It has always stuck with me. It said, “Never regret getting old. Many are denied the privilege.”
And as that wise saying implies, it sure as hell beats the alternative. I’ve learned to just have a good giggle over all of the above, take a deep breath, roll up my boobs and stuff ‘em in my bra.