These are the actual medical terms for each of the stages aging that no one will tell you.
What? About age 45 or
so, AARP hunts you down, taps into all your information, filling your mailbox
daily with ten pounds of recruitment propaganda that include stock photos of seniors
engaging in shit that is supposed to keep you young. You are not ready to deal with it.
What the....? You now
require reading glasses to see anything. The cure is relatively simple, go purchase
those cheap reading glasses found at your neighborhood pharmacy. Why the pharmacy? Because you need to know where it is and
rehearse how you get there. It’s only a
matter of time before you can’t remember where it is, so you begin demanding a
delivery. It’s like a fun little inauguration into middle age. Here’s your shitty glasses! You are officially never going to feel sexy
again! Ever! Deal with it! And they have to be cheap because you are
repetitively putting them in stupid places, like on top of your head, where you
can’t find them. It costs a small
fortune to replace the fifty pairs a week you blow through. Texting and making
phone calls are virtually impossible without them.
Seriously, What the....? An ice cube now contains the caloric
content of a Big Mac. Happy trails metabolism! Then menopause begins. It’s marked by the sensation of volcanic lava
coercing through your veins while grocery shopping. At this point, your ovaries
are turning to dust, choking and gasping for a flow of nonexistent
estrogen. You hate everyone and
everything. Nighttime becomes a
delightful swim in a sea of your own sweat, which causes insomnia, your new
best friend. By morning you are ready to strangle any asshole that gets in your
path. I lied. You want to strangle
anyone and everyone is an asshole. Every
evening you sit with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, going through old pictures,
sobbing inconsolably as you reminisce about the body you once hated but now
wish you had. You even try Spanx, but those work for about three minutes, only because your central nervous system stops functioning.
Spanx? No Thanx.
I am the Ayatollah (Goo-Goo G’ Joob): Work it.
Own it. You go to bed with a smooth
face and wake up horrified by what you see in the mirror. How does
hair grow that much overnight?
 |
| Before bed |
 |
| The following morning |
I no longer care: “I don’t give a shit anymore” becomes the
mantra at this phase; you are now blind, fat and bearded. What else can
go wrong? Can you say age spots,
arbitrary pigmentations and weird skin conditions that contain at least six
syllables? Body parts begin a seemingly
endless migration southward; it’s kind of like your body responding to “Honey,
hurry!! There is only one trailer spot left in south Texas and we must get
there today before the other snowbirds get it.”
That kind of mad dash. Your
body harvests all kinds of strange things--bumps, nodules, hormonal zits,
things growing out of things and things that grow inside of other things on top
of things that usually require a frantic visit to the doctor.
You notice those cute ears your husband once had are now the
size of Frisbees. He develops a
justifiable fear of walking through a park with a disc golf course. You can
make intricate balloon animals out of those once perky boobs. You are terrified
to go near a birthday party. His balls
are dangerously close to dragging on the floor and size wise, they could
comfortably hold a liter of Rottweiler puppies.
Your knee caps can be neatly tucked into your socks. It’s super sexy.
Get off my Lawn: You are
angry and hateful because you just are.
Why not? Now you tell everyone
under thirty stories about how you didn’t have cell phones when you were a
kid. They don’t care.
Damnit! Did I leave the Burner On? Now, you’re walking into a room and completely
forget why you are there in the first place.
Your march with bold intention to the kitchen to get….what was it? Fifteen feet ago you were confident in your
mission, now you are scratching your head, saying out loud “Why did I come in
here?” This goes on most of the day,
like a hamster on a wheel. It’s like
having Alzheimer’s, except you remember that you forgot something. Nothing gets
accomplished, because you are merely trying to figure out what you’re doing all
day—by the end of the day, you are exhausted from searching for everything. Where’s my cell phone? Where are my keys? Where are my reading glasses?
Congratulations! You’ve become a mental embryo now.
Dude Acts Like a Lady; In the middle of the night, you
magically switch out genders by swapping hormones; He has enough estrogen to
start having periods, while your testosterone levels are peaking so high you
now have the balls in the family. Sure, you look the same, but you no longer
maintain the specific roles you were once accustomed to. Back in the day
(youth) the male impatiently waited in the car, as the woman was finishing up
her hair and makeup. Now, it reverses. You
have already shaved and gotten dressed, waiting impatiently in the car. The hub’s is trying to get his prostate, now
the size of a canned ham to cooperate-- peeing like a sputtering sprinkler for
thirty minutes. He’s in the grocery
store crying because he can’t find the Funyuns and you grumble “get over it”. He
wants chocolate. You want motor oil. See how it works?
Driving 15 mph in a giant Buick: I’m not there yet, but the thought has
occurred to me to restore one. My
husband cried.
Change my diaper!: I’ll let you know.
© 2015. Brin Thompson. All rights reserved.
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