Getting Old is NOT My Cup of Tea!!!

We're all getting older, day by day. Some of us more quickly than others. Looking in the mirror loses its appeal, unlike when we were in our prime and would turn toward any store front window that would reflect our image for our viewing pleasure. Now, I avoid those same windows. Who needs Macy's and their pointy-nippled anorexic mannequins reminding you of each and every flaw? Not me, no thank you. Wrinkles are just the icing on the cake. Visual deterioration can be masked, plumped, and serum-ed. Hell, for the brave and uber-vain, there's always Botox or plastic surgery. That's a route you won't find me taking in this lifetime, but if it's your thing, have at it. The art of disguising them has become my new talent. Those nasty little worry lines that's I've more than earned as a parent for 18 years, are easily camouflaged by all forms of bangs. Side bangs work if you aren't ready to commit to a full-on pin-up girl bang. Think about it, a slight change in your hairstyle can erase years...years, my friends! I am all over that shit like white on rice. Anything that keeps me miles away from anesthesia and scalpels is fucking A-ok in my book.

Gray hair can seriously suck the life out of a youthful-looking broad. Luckily for me, I only have about four...two on each temple. Be jealous if you need to, that's fine with me. I'm sure it's not the only thing you envy about me and others you encounter on a daily basis. That's your cross to bear, not mine. However, even having four gray hairs is too much for me. That's my personal appearance peeve. That and white trash roots. There's really no excuse for letting your hair age you prematurely. There are rows and rows of hair color in the stores, no need to spend a fortune, particularly if you are a cheap fucker like I am. This is not your mother's Miss Clairol, there are fancy, higher priced, better for your hair options now. Get on them and stop looking like a haggard old witch. Any improvement that can be done in the privacy of your own home and provide life-changing results in under thirty minutes is worth your effort, so get off your ass and make it happen.

The issue of boobs that need a forklift is not a pleasant one, but not insurmountable, either. Victoria's Secret provides a plethora of beautiful and sturdily uplifting brassieres for even us aging beauties. Those of us who had ta-tas that stood up on their own, proudly defying gravity and saluting the sun every morning...are now feeling the cruel pull of middle age boob-droop. That doesn't mean we have to put up with it! Go shopping, spend the $45, and get the ladies off your lap. While you're at it, remember, with droop comes the opportunity to not only shove them up...but together. That's right, cleavage! Work it, own it, and show it the fuck off. The last time I had decent cleavage before middle age was during pregnancy...over 18 years ago. I am due and am not going to let this ship pass me by before I get too old and it becomes tacky instead of sexy. Wrinkly cleave is a frightening sight in which I will not partake.

Beyond appearance, getting older has seriously unpleasant physical side effects that I'd rather not deal with, but am being forced to every morning. Yes, the random and frequent aches and pains. We can blame our mattresses and pillows for only so long before we must admit, it's not the padding in our beds but the less-than-lubricated, creaky old joints in our bodies that plague us. Becoming intimately acquainted with the merits of Tylenol and Advil is inevitable. Feeling like you can't stand straight or move your hands is unnecessary, drugs were invented to eradicate that kind of bullshit. Embrace them, they are your friends. I have and am not apologetic in the least. Call me an addict if you'd like, but I don't bitch and moan all day like you do. And you annoy the shit out of me.

Let's not forget the eyesight...or lack of youthful ability to see without doing the old broad stretch to see a fucking menu. Close up, distance, they are both starting to go and for fuck's sake, it's frustrating as hell. In the beginning of the decline it was manageable. Squint a little here, elongate the arm a bit there. All was swell. But when I seriously considered asking the closest person in the room to walk the reading material a few feet back so I could see it, I knew it was a losing battle. That and losing my ability to drive effectively at night. Independence is hard to maintain when you can't drive past 7pm. It kind of sucks balls, to be completely honest. So, I found myself at my annual eye exam explaining my vision difficulties to my optometrist to be told that at my age, at MY age, it was to be expected and how did I feel about progressives?!?! Holy shit! Progressives are for old people, why are you asking ME about them? Well, if you want to read and see far away and drive at night, you'll want one pair that does all that...you don't want multiple glasses, do you? Jeez, when you put it that way, do I have a choice? Good thing I look cute in glasses or I'd be squinting like a motherfuck.

Sweaters are great, but tell me why I now need one even in the summer time? I've become THAT person. Always cold, except for the random hot flash, I've now turned into one of those old ladies I used to laugh at when I was younger. Racing around the house to close windows my husband has left open yet again, wearing fuzzy socks in the house, and wrapping myself in a giant crocheted blanket in order to watch TV because I fear I'll freeze to death...this is my existence. Let me assure you, it's not all in my head. My skin is actually cold to the touch. So much so, my husband often tells me I'm dead but I just won't admit it. He's even been so kind as to offer to buy a shovel to make me a comfy resting spot. Admittedly, there are times I wonder if he may be right. But then I remind myself that I'm not THAT goddamn old! I prefer to blame it on my intermittent anemia. The uterine residents should be blamed here, not my advancing age. Yet, I know better. Nobody I know is getting any younger...nor am I. Some of us are just racing down that road to old age faster than others. One race I'd like to lose, thank you very much.

There are days I feel as though I am losing my mind. Not because I've gone crazy, but because I've walked into yet another room and forgotten why! My world has become a sea of yellow sticky notes, texts to myself, and other assorted forms of reminders so I can get through an average day. How on Earth did I become this person? I used to have an amazing memory...in school I didn't study, I memorized and got straight A's. So explain to me how this same person can't remember to turn off a light or put something back in the fridge. It's frustrating as hell and I simply don't have time to sit around holding my head, eyes closed tightly trying to remember basic shit. My long-term memory is still sharp as a tack, the short-term is slowly flying out the fucking window. Ask me about my childhood and I can regale you with story after story. Ask me what I had for breakfast and I have no friggin idea. Good times, good times.

Believe me, I am not complaining. Feeling this way, experiencing all the creaking and cracking, seeing the four gray hairs, working on disguising the wrinkles...all of those things means I've woken up and been given another day to enjoy. It means I am beating the odds, I am otherwise healthy and alive. Regardless of the "gifts" of the aging process, I'm still here and I can still kick your ass. Are some of these things annoying? Of course they are, who said they weren't? Do they slow me down? Here and there, naturally. Would I rather enjoy a few more years of youth? Of course, who wouldn't? But, the real question is, would I want to go back in time to grasp at those years? Fuck, no! I wouldn't be who I am without all of this and as I was once told, it sure beats the alternative. Are you friggin kidding me right now???