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Aging with Grace30.Oct.2002”Once over the hill,
you pick up speed” Age spots are also out. They aren’t something I aspire to have all over my hands or face. Grace might think they’re cute and you might even be able to keep yourself amused by playing a rousing game of connect the dots with them, but I draw the line at having any freckle-like object march across my epidermis for no good reason. Besides, brown isn’t my color. Grace can revel in the streaks of silver in her hair. Not me. I’m opting for a full foil and a youthful hairstyle. The kind that’s long enough to cover my face when I’m in the sun so I won’t wrinkle. Blue hair is a definite no go as well. I’m sorry, but who thought blue hair was a color appropriate for the elderly? Why not pink or green? Personally I’d prefer a light burgundy but will stick with the golden streaks my hairdresser charges a fortune for. What is it with these places anyway? Such prices! As long as we’re on the subject of hair, is there some sort of biological clock for hair follicles? What I mean is, how does it know to stop growing long and lush on your head and start sprouting in places where it never sprouted before? Namely on your upper lip. Not that this has happened to me, of course. I’ve just heard about it. (Reminder to self: look up electrolysis later.) Grace might enjoy listening to her bones crack and pop when she moves around, not I. Research tells us that loud noises are liable to damage our hearing. That’s why I put enough layers of, er, padding around my joints in order to muffle that annoying noise. I don’t consider it extra weight, but rather protective measures to insure the safety of my ears. You can never be too safe where your hearing is concerned. I hear every little crackle and crunch when I move. This tells me that my hearing is just fine, thank you. I’ve seen those little flesh-tone colored things that people plug into their ears to help them hear better. Who do they think they’re kidding? Blue hair doesn’t cover up everything you know. You can see right through it to the hearing aids. Grace is having memory problems as well. Not me. Nope. I’m as sharp as I ever was. I never repeat myself, like I’m sure Grace does. Did I mention that Grace’s mind isn’t what it used to be? She keeps repeating herself. It’s sad, really. And what’s with this whole glasses thing? I’m sure that Grace delights in buying those little reading glasses at the pharmacy, just to show that she’s mature enough to be myopic. Not me. Uh uh. I’m perfectly content to use a magnifying glass in the privacy of my own home to read prescription bottles, newspapers and the bills that arrive in my mailbox. My eyes aren’t going bad, the print is getting smaller. I’m sure Grace knows this, but she won’t admit it. I wonder what Grace’s take on acid reflux is? I bet she takes medication and has even stooped to changing her eating habits. Who says you have to stop eating jalapeno peppers after you turn forty? In college we ate brownies, salsa chips and drank till three in the morning and still slept like the babies we were. I’m sure I can still do this. Plus, who says you have to lie down to sleep? I can sleep sitting up, no problem. I do it all the time. The more I think about it, the more I don’t like this Grace person. Who does she think she is? Everyone says I’m aging with Grace, well I beg to differ with them. I might be aging, sure. But like I said, not with Grace. I’m whining and kicking and throwing a temper tantrum just like my three-year-old. Trust me on this one; grace has nothing to do with it. |
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