Confessions of a middle aged woman

I’ve been looking in the mirror lately. A lot. My 48th birthday is around the corner and I have been somewhat stunned to visit what that truly looks like. I used to demand strangers guess how old I am. Now, I just growl when the grocery store clerk says “Paper or Plastic, Ma’am.” My mind and body are changing rapidly, mostly for good, but some, not so good. Thankfully, I can find humor in most anything. It’s amazing how time sneaks up on you while you’re sleeping, grabs your facial skin and shakes it loose from your skull. When I bend over to pick something up off the floor, my facial skin completely detaches from my head. I almost have to tie it back with a pony tail holder. When did this happen? When did I begin to grow old?
Well, I guess it is true that none of us will leave this world alive, but I would like to be somewhat recognizable. I can just hear my girlfriends now as they stare at my lifeless body in the casket. “She used to be so cute. She looked so tired in the end. Her poor husband.” This is why I have left specific instructions in my will to be placed in the casket upside down so at least my shoes will look fabulous. I really haven’t done that, but it’s not a bad idea. Nevertheless, I began to write down some of the more noticeable changes that have occurred on this work of art that is my body.
I have always considered myself attractive. I’m not being vein, just honest. I was cute. Mixed kids naturally are pretty and I modeled from childhood through my college years. By college, I was 5’8”, 112 lbs. with glorious, firm boobs. Years later, cute got me a cute husband. Cute also got me pregnant; 3 times. Standing in the mirror, 112 lbs. is now a distant memory and those perky boobs are now two different sizes, shaped like the balloons clowns use to make dachshund puppy bodies, filled with pancake batter. I tell people by bra size is a 36 Long. Oh, I forgot to mention that my hawk vision has been reduced to that of a bat.
Monday morning, I had an appointment with, how would you say, a physique improvement specialist. Okay, a plastic surgeon. I wanted to treat myself to a birthday present, so I went to have a chat to see what was available to me. I felt like walking in and just laying down on the floor and yelling for help. Fortunately, this particular surgeon is an acquaintance of mine (our daughters are friends) so I trust her opinion. We decided to start with something small that would still make an impact. The first stop, my face. I began to tell the surgeon that I had these lines on the sides of my mouth that were becoming more prevalent. What she said next was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. “Oh, marionette lines”. What? She might as well have said ugly monster witch lady lines. Who wants to have a face that resembles a creepy marionette? Get out the needle, lady and do your thing. I was told that one vial of some stuff will obliterate those lines. I was ready. At that point, I didn’t care if it was acid (which I later found out it was).
Okay, let’s begin. First needle stick. I start to feel a little warm, then molten hot lava warm. I begin to yell “get it out get it out get it out”. Next was “I’m going to throw up. There’s no sink in here and I’m going to throw up”. Then, it was “I can’t feel my hands. I’m numb from the elbow down”. Finally, “I’m goin’ down!” Poor doctor had to lay me flat, cover me in ice packs, give me one of those kidney shaped thrower upper thingies and hold my legs up in the air. I was hyperventilating and nearly fainted. I also threw in a hot flash for good measure.
Upon regaining my composure and some of my dignity, I was able to get through the procedure, which took an excruciatingly whole 45 seconds. The results were immediate; the lines disappeared. However, my plan had been to discuss my blog with the good doctor in order to suggest I be used to demonstrate some of her procedures to potential clients. In turn, I would blog about the wonderful experience. Somehow, I didn’t think that was an appropriate way to end this visit. “Gee Doc, let me sweat, hyperventilate, puke and then pass out to show how painless and easy your procedures are”.
At any rate, I feel much better. It was definitely worth it. I won’t be such a wimp next time. It is also important to note that until I told him, my husband never even noticed the difference. He then proceeded to tell me that I didn’t need to erase those lines for him. His old age is clearly taken a toll on his sanity.

5 thoughts on “Confessions of a middle aged woman

  1. Hysterical!!! The upside down casket so your fly shoes will show is classic! You are going to start a trend in the funeral business: a peep toe casket so the shoes can be seen!

  2. I had a similar expierence with the plastic surgeon. Those needles hurt even though it is quick and they are short needles. Almost pooped my pants!

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