I know all you people keep saying the 40’s is the new 20’s, but let me just tell you that now that I am in my mid 40’s all I can say is “BULLSHIT!” I could try to say it nicer (I even tried to explore how), but bullshit really seems to be the most appropriate and best way to nail it. There are a few advantages of age. Wisdom and treachery are a two of my favorites, but in general getting old really isn’t all that much fun.
I know that on the TV they keep showing us these 40 to 60 year old’s that still look 20. Really?? I’m sure they have “good genes” and all, but come on I’m sure I could too if I could pay millions of dollars for people and products to make my wrinkles go away. They may look 20, but I bet they can’t get to the bathroom before they pee on themselves either. That should be the real age test for women- not wrinkles. When you are in your twenties you can run a mile. When you are in your 30’s hard coughs and sneezes become a issue. In your 40’s after having parasites (children for those nicer than me) just thinking about it and making it in time becomes your comedy or tragedy of the day. I feel like I spend a lot of time during my day doing what I call “the don’t pee pee dance” I do it in the car, I do it in the grocery store and I do it in hallways. It now takes me 10 minutes to get out of the car in my own driveway after traffic. Not because I’m stuck on the phone or even getting my stuff together, but simply because it takes me that long to psych myself up for the attempt to make it to the bathroom in time. I now know why adult diapers are such big sellers because otherwise by 60 I am sure we would all just be permanently living in a bathroom too afraid to come out.
The other age test these freaks of nature should have to pass is the joint noises test. I just want one time when one of these women goes on a talk show to talk about her “staying young” techniques I want them to walk down the stairs with microphones on their knees, not their jackets. I remember lovingly the days when I used to be able to bound up and down the stairs. Now when I walk up and down the stairs it sounds more like someone burning themselves while popping popcorn. “Pop, ouch, pop, ouch, pop, ouch” My hips now too are joining in on the conspiracy against me. They are evil and go out at the most inappropriate times. I’ll gladly avoid the stairs, but the hubby and I have a goal to get kicked out of the old age home for inappropriate behavior and I’ll certainly need my hips for that.
The other joy of middle age which I could do without is having my own little personal summer times. The government gives out many subsidies. I think one they are ignoring is personal cabana boys for middle aged women. This would not be a permanent subsidy, but a temporary one (kinda like welfare was supposed to be) For about 5 years all middle aged women going through menopause would be assigned one cabana boy. His job would be to follow us around with a cup of ice and large fan. He should pay attention and anytime we start sweating for no reason (or glowing for my southern lady friends) he should jump into action and feed us ice and quickly fan. Pay attention to history and all the famous queens with their personal people running around fanning them- they weren’t really hot they were going through the change and understood what was needed. I may just hold out on picking my next candidate for president until I can find one whose platform is cabana boys or hell- maybe I’ll just run myself. My platform will be “Menopausal women unite” The men may not vote for us, but I bet they’ll be to scared to tell us. 🙂
Since I don’t have millions I am deciding to grow old gracefully (or not so much-depending on how you look at it) What tickles me is we put so much emphasis on the wrinkles on our face and so far I’ve found those are the least annoying parts of growing old. It has taken me years to get these “shit eating grin” lines permanently etched on my face and I think they deserve to stay. I don’t mind seeing my laugh lines in the mirror- they’re my badge of courage. Those lines mean I’ve found ways to laugh even through the tears. Those lines mean I have laughed, those lines mean I have loved, those lines mean I have lived, and those lines mean I have survived. As I look in the mirror tonight at the wrinkles and try to figure out why my grandmother when she was younger is staring back at me I hear the the immortal words of Dolly Parton in Steal Magnolia’s “Time marches on and eventually you realize it’s marching across your face” Well time- march on………………….