Age Is Just a Number

Ahhh... those little nuisances that just scream at you, "You're getting old!" I hate them. 

First, there's the medications that keep the old ticker from setting up a blockade on the brain... not to be confused with the kamikaze aneurysm, which, in my mind, would be merciful compared to stroke. 

Then, there's the medication to counteract a lifetime of eating fried food... raised in the South, what can I say? We fried bologna, tomatoes, okra, steak, turkey and, of course, chicken. Hell, they deep fry butter at the State Fair of Texas in Dallas, where I grew up! Yeah, it's that bad. I was grown before I ever tasted roasted chicken or a baked potato.  

The changes in the body are the hardest to take. First, there's my eyes... or, rather, my eye lids. I have none, just a fold of fatty skin hanging down so low that if I didn't have lashes to hold up my lids, I probably wouldn't be able to see. And, what the hell happened to my lips? They didn't move, they just disappeared. My butt looks like it shrank as I got older, but I realized it just fell. It's still as big as it ever was, it just that half of it now hangs down to my knees. But, what I lost in a protruding butt, I made up for in a gut that rivals how I looked six months into pregnancy. And, then, there's the boobs... so disgustingly sad, I can't even talk about that. Bette said it best, "Old age ain't no place for sissies."

So, that brings me to the effort of covering up this assault of years and gravity. And, that's the rub... it costs more! I went from spending $10 for a bra to spending almost $50!! I can't use just regular makeup, I have to buy the more expensive waterproof kind because there's all this skin hanging in folds creating moisture. Without the waterproof makeup, by noon I look like a raccoon and there's spackle in my wrinkles. And, gone are the days of just throwing on some lip gloss. Oh no! I have to draw on lips, just to pretend that I still have some. And, to add insult to injury, I can't laugh, sneeze or cough without running to the bathroom.

It takes more time, more money, more effort just to try and keep from looking like a troll. Sing to me, Frank. 

http://youtu.be/emAe6IClGys 

Yeah, it's all good, right? We're BOOMERS! Age is just a number.