Monday, October 21, 2013
Now, normally age does not bother me. I have never been one to lie about it or be put-out if someone asks me how old I am.
I always tell them, my knees feel like they are 65 and my back feels like I am 70, but in my head, I am still 30.
At noon today I looked in the mirror and noticed the lines from the pillow were still indented on my face. Which wouldn’t be a problem except for I got up at 9. My skin just doesn’t bounce back like it used to.
That’s not the only thing that doesn’t bounce back when you start sliding into 50. I’ve noticed “The Girls” need an alignment. The headlights are no longer pointed at the road ahead and need a little more support than usual. I read that it is a good idea to have a bra fitting every year, so on a recent trip to the mall I stopped into a lingerie store. A young lady half my age (or more) asked if I needed help. “Yes” I told her “I would like to get a bra fitting.”
In the changing room she assured me I was wearing the wrong size, as most women do, and took several measurements. Turns out I was. My 34 inch rib cage had expanded to 36. She then went on a hunt to find bras that would fit me.
Within minutes she was back with a half dozen in every colour. We were doing well until then. She may have been an expert with a measuring tape but the age difference was blatant with her choice of styles. Among the selection, she had chosen a light support black number, a red half cup, and a white see-through lace. Now that may be a good choice when you’re 25 but at 50, anything that comes in red, white and half cup better be from a wine bottle not a bra store.
“You don’t need that much support” she tells me. “Try them on you’ll be surprised how good you’ll look” she reassured me.
“I am turning 50. I need support, wide straps and full cups.” Then I add, “As a matter of fact, I need a lot of support. Stick you head outside the store and see if there are any other 50ish aged women in the area and ask them to come in. I am going to need all the support I can get.”
I left the store with a bra that I am not sure I will ever wear and then went to Winners and bought an extremely expensive purse that I don’t need but it covers my entire butt and saves me from having to try on jeans.
I am not only getting droopier, I am also getting shorter. I noticed my blue dress pants drag on the floor, even when I am wearing heals. I measured myself and found out I am shorter! I researched it on the internet and found that after 40, we lose about half an inch per decade. My daughter is continuously saying “Stand next to me Mom. Look in the mirror. I am taller than you!” I always thought it was because she is growing like a tree and has legs like a giraffe. Turns out no, it’s just osteoporosis and I need to drink more milk and load up on calcium.
Don’t even start me on the whole “Pee” thing. I wrote a blog dedicated to the fun of sneezing and losing fluids from both ends http://iamfunnylikethat.blogspot.ca/2012/05/how-often-can-woman-pee.html
Or the day when you find out that the hair on your head isn’t the only hair that turns gray. (Think about that one for a while).
How about the facial hair? That’s a good one. Putting on my makeup in the magnifying mirror with my dollar store near-sighted glasses on, I discovered it was not going to be a good day. No, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.
I immediately booked a laser hair removal appointment. $2500 and weeks later I was told it doesn’t work on some hair types and was referred to electrolysis.
Electrolysis is considerably cheaper ($20 for 15 minutes) and got rid of the problem after a couple of months but I still need a touch up here and there. The first five minutes of every morning is spent in the magnifying mirror with my 2.0 dollar store glasses searching for strays. I am so paranoid about it I made my daughter promise me that when I am on my deathbed I trust her to bring the one thing that will help me transition from this world to the next in peace… a pair of tweezers!
Yes. I am aging. But I am ok with that. I am still hot, only now it comes in flashes. The clerk at Sobey’s no longer calls me “Me ducky” and now refers to me as “Ma’am.”
I take care of myself. I walk every day. I watch what I eat. I like the way I look and who I am. I am happy with my accomplishment s.
I have a 53 year old husband who is going bald and taking up more space in the bed than he did 20 years ago. So it’s all good. We’re aging together.
Some even say life begins at 50. On the bright side, I am only 15 years away from getting the senior’s discount at our favourite buffet.
So as of next week, I am 50% off.
Here's to good health, good friends, good food and being happy. I hope to live to be 100, 100 years or more.
Posted by Helen C. Escott