"Age is Just a Number"

The only people who should get away with saying that are young men dating cougars.  For the rest of us who have reached a certain age, the signs are telling.  Age is not just a number.  It is the new way of life.

Every year I celebrate my kids’ birthdays with a party.  And luckily we’ve been having great weather, so they are usually sports themed.  After playing cricket, baseball, soccer, basketball, dodgeball, kickball and running around in the sun, several people usually ask, “Where do you find the energy, girl?”

What they don’t know is for the next few days, after the last guests have left, I cannot leave the couch.  All my muscles hurt.  I feel completely depleted.

But it’s always worth it!

The other day, I was talking to one of my sisters, about all things, blood pressure monitors.  What?  How old are we?  Having bought mine a few years ago, I recommended that brand.

But then it hit me.  This is my fashionista sister.  We are not discussing clothes, shoes, celebrities or cute guys.  We are talking about blood pressure – pills, monitors and rates.

When did this happen?

Oftentimes I see senior citizens, and I wonder:  at what particular stage did they become old?  When did she start wearing housedresses outside?  When did she stop leaving the house without a hat? When did he start wearing only pocketless pants -- the kinds with the waist resting under his chest?  And when did he start smelling like an old man?

I hope to God, I never get to that stage.

When I stop going to the Gap and start shopping at Liz Claiborne, I know I’m there.  No offense to my LC crew.

When I stop going to Victoria’s Secret and start buying my unmentionables from Maidenform, I know I’m there.

Nah, wait, that won’t happen.  With Victoria’s Secret sending me a coupon for a free panty almost every month, there is no way I’m going to start purchasing granny panties. 

And unlike other cardholders, I don’t feel compelled to buy anything.  I leave my house, go to the store, collect my free gift and leave.  Not that there is any other kind of gift.

“Did you also get your $10 off bra coupon?” asks the saleslady.

“Yes, I did,” say I.

But I don’t need bras.  I don’t need more panties.  I don't need lotion or spritz.   I don’t need anything.  Were it not for the fact that they sent the coupons to my house, I would have no reason to be there.  But since they did, I’m not going to waste their coupons.  And then allowing all those trees to be killed for no reason?  Totally uncalled for!  I have to do my part, right.

But get this.  Just the other day, I went to get my last free panty; and I say last because I believe from now they are going to blacklist me.  The cashier asked me if I possess an Angel Card.  I said, "Yes." Then she said, "We are having a special.  If you spend $65, you get a free umbrella."

I gave her as much faux interest as I could muster, but she was not deterred.  She asked if I was interested in seeing it.  I relented.  I noticed she gave me too much time to check out the umbrella, but I pretended along with her.  

Then I became convinced that Girlfriend was on some of that good stuff that I refused many years ago, because she wanted to hold my panty hostage while I looked around to spend $65.  When she asked if she could keep it here while I checked, I said, "No, I'll take it now."

First off, I'm Antiguan; ergo I do not need an umbrella.  Everyone knows when it rains, Antiguans do not leave their homes.  Hello???

Secondly, it wasn't even a discrete umbrella.  It had the words VICTORIA'S SECRET all over it, in pink and white, no less.  I know my life is an open book, but if I wanted everyone to know where I purchase my unmentionables, I wouldn't wear pants.

And what am I going to accessorize it with?  My KOTEX T-Shirt?

But I digress.

So tell me, what's the deal with gray hair popping up in unusual places?  I have one specific gray hair that appears every so often.  In the beginning it only came about once a year; I would tweeze it, and I wouldn’t see it again for several months.  Recently I notice that it returns immediately after I have gotten rid of it.  First, how come it always comes back in the exact same spot?  And second, who the hell gets gray hair there?

Hey, hey, hey, stop that!  I’m not that kind of blogger………yet.  The hair is on my forehead!!!

Speaking of gray hairs, I started noticing them after I turned 35.  They don’t bother me, per se; well if I can’t see them, because if they are in the front, they are history.  My friend keeps warning me that one day I will become bald if I keep pulling them out, but I think, “And the problem is?”

And I never had hair on my chin.  Then I got one.  Now I get about five or six.  And I know it could be worse, but heck, I still get pimples.  Mother Nature needs to just choose one.  She can’t give me a beard and still gives me pimples!

I went for my annual checkup a few months ago, and when the doctor was done he asked if anything else was bothering me.  I said, “Can you take a look at my toenail, please?  All of a sudden it turned brown.”  He assumed I was concerned about diabetes and meant my toes, so he looked at me, and I said, “I’m getting old right, so that’s the least.”

Last year, it dawned on me that one of my favorite swimsuits was NEVER going to fit me again, so I gave it to my young daughter.  She wore it to our friends' barbeque, and I thought to myself, “Now I understand why older women resent their younger counterparts.”  Not me, but other older women! 

The last time I wore that swimsuit, I thought, "It looks okay, but……  This is fine, but……".  I looked at my daughter in the swimsuit and I think, "Oh that’s how it is supposed to look!"

But I’m not too hard on myself because the stretch marks, cellulite and c-sections bulge are all my badges of honor; the battle scars I wear with pride.  The laugh lines give me character, or so I tell myself.  But seriously, it just reiterates that I am indeed a certain age.  And it’s not a bad thing, really; it’s just confusing because I don’t feel like I am older; I don’t think that I am older; but every now and then something reminds me that I am.  And like an amnesiac….I am always taken aback.

Every time I see an extremely old picture of someone, I am always amazed how beautiful or handsome they were when young.  I sometimes wonder what happens when my 93 year old grandmother looks in the mirror.  Is she expecting to see the person she knew decades ago or has she gotten accustomed to seeing an old lady looking back at her?

But one thing I know for sure.  She is happy that she is still around.  She is happy that she bore 5 children, who begot her 27 grandchildren, 67 great-grandchildren and 16 great-great-grandchildren. Well, that I know of!  And she is happy that she is still thriving.

Because perspectively speaking, as difficult as it is watching yourself age, it sure beats the alternative.