I’m okay with growing old…really. It’s gonna happen sooner or later no matter what we do, how much wrinkle cream we slather on, or how many cosmetic surgeries we torture our body with. And I’ve grown accustomed to this philosophy even if I struggled with it (and darn nearly strangled it to death) at first.
I’m alright with things hitting the floor before my feet do when I get up out of bed in the morning that used to be tight, firm, and ‘perky’. Our fifth grade science teachers were right. The laws of physics do apply to everyday life; Gravity is real, (and a mean little witch) folks.
I’m doing just fine and dandy too with not having a rear end to speak of anymore and having fatter slightly fatter thighs than I had in my younger days. Did I mention that I love that little ‘mommy’ pouch that has formed above the top of my jeans? The cracking of joints and bones when I move around doesn’t bother me either, although the kids do complain about all the noise.
And the fact that my hair is having a mid-life crises of it’s own and refuses to make up it’s mind of whether it wants to be curly or straight (blasted just choose already!!!!) hasn’t slowed me down yet. I don’t care what the neighbors are saying about how many young children or birds I’ve scared with it. They’re just jealous. I think my ‘do’ looks….uhm…. well, original. Besides, those little random white hairs sticking out all over my head that make me resemble Albert Einstein are just nature’s way of saying that I’m mature. (stop laughing)
But there is one thing that does bother me on this journey…immensely. Why, oh please tell why, is it that only one of my eyebrows has to hog all the gray hair? Couldn’t he learn to share? Have I taught him nothing in the last century? The darn thing is almost completely white!! Or at least it was until I started plucking. Now, I have to pencil over the gaps so that I don’t look like a freak. I suppose that I could dye them, but honestly we all know what that would look like. But what other choice do I have?
I’m not worried that I could go blind from the stuff either if it gets into my eyes. I’m already blind as a bat (but without the great hearing). I have to wear my glasses just to find my glasses in the morning. My hubby thinks this is funny and sometimes takes them on purpose, hiding them from me, making me crawl around on the floor like Velma from Scooby Doo exclaming, “Oh, I’ve lost my glasses; has anyone seen my glasses?”
Maybe I’ll just shave them off altogether—my eyebrows, not my eyeballs. I could then pencil them in like the Hollywood movie starlets did in the old days. And who knows, maybe I’ll buy a wig to match my new eyebrows.
While I’m at it, I’ll just go ahead and purchase some inserts to perk up my rear end and front end too and maybe some of that instant face lift tape they advertise in the back of beauty magazines. It’s supposed to be invisible; hidden by one’s hair or, rather in my case, one’s wig.
I’ll look smashing….and not at all freakish and off balance like I do now.