I'm getting sick of saying that! After I lost a hundred pounds, I noticed I had developed what other's affectionately call, batwings, similar but not quite as horrible as those in this picture. But now the condition has moved down. I glimpsed myself in a picture the other day in which my arms were crossed to hide the shelf I've developed to hold my sagging boobs...and gasped at the excess skin hanging from my forearms. When did that happen?
I found myself muttering those words again when I passed cash to the clerk for my purchase at the grocery story the other day. Three new age spots on the back of my hand. It happened overnight. I'm afraid to go to sleep anymore. God knows what I'll find when I wake up.
Isn't it enough to have to have wrinkles on your face, lose your lip line, suffer through graying hair and all the aches and pains that come with aging? What's the point to all these other indignities?
I remember when truck drivers used to honk and wave at me. Now they flip me the bird because I'm driving to slow to suit their need to cruise at 80 MPH. I'm just waiting for some boy-scout-suited little creep to try and help me cross the road to earn a merit badge. Do they even do that anymore?
Yesterday, my husband went to see the doctor for a follow-up to his sleep-apnea study. He has it. Why wasn't I surprised? Now he's going to have to wear a mask when he sleeps. I have a visual image of sleeping with a scuba diver sans the flippers...although he does jiggle his foot most of the night. I warned him. If he thought our sex life had declined, wait till he dons that mask. Ewww, kiss me baby! Of course, right after I was so flippant with him, I bit into a chip and broke my front tooth. We should make a fetching pair. Of course the dentist is closed on Friday so I have to wait until Monday to get it fixed. I needed another expense.
Whoever said, 'aging is not for the faint of heart' knew first-hand what it's like. I've given up wearing make-up, trying to find a bra that actually does what it claims, and trying to squeeze my butt into jeans that no longer fit. I'm wearing elastic waists from now on, and the only 'crossing my heart' I'm doing has nothing to do with my brassiere. It has to do with luck and hope that my boobs are actually through growing... longer.
Just when I thought I had the depression thing licked, my HS friend, Margie discovered some pictures of me taken in the 70s and had to share them with me. At the time I wasn't impressed with myself, but boy, looking at my image now than then...I WAS A BABE.