June 20, 2008

Old like me.

It's official: I'm a geezer.
No, the boobs have not crept any further toward my knees, no deep lines or creases on the face, no more gray hair than the average thirty-something, I don't lose my keys any more now than before and, more important, I still know what they're for when I find them...this is much worse. Last night my husband handed me a packet of Theraflu so I could read the directions for him (this is, apparently, my job as wife) I held the packet at the same distance I would have held it a few weeks ago but, last night, it was blurry. I blinked a couple of times - my contact lenses must be cruddy (it happens), I tilted my head a bit - the print on the package must be squiggly (it happens), I turned on another light - poor light can affect one's ability to see clearly (it happens). I still couldn't quite read it. Suddenly I caught myself doing something I'd seen my aunt do: I tilted my head back, raised my eyebrows and pulled the package back a bit. The print became clearer. Oh, Holy crap. I read the instructions and handed the packet to my husband. I went and looked in the mirror. I am now old. It'll all happen at once now won't it? Tomorrow I'll have crow's feet deep enough to plant crops. Next week my boobs will drag along the ground beside me. If I ever find my keys again I won't know what to do with them. ...sigh... Okay, pity-party over. My grandfather was still getting arrested at cock-fights (that he drove himself to, out in the boondocks, late at night) until shortly before his 100th birthday, so if genetics have anything to do with it, I need to snap out of it and move on. Besides, I'm living in a plastic surgery paradise right now, I can (and very cheaply) nip and tuck all the outward signs of aging. I can dye my hair any color I like. My failing vision is not the end of the world. I can still see Keanu Reeves clearly up on a movie screen and, as long as I can still remember what I'd like to do with him, I'll be just fine.