Where's My Cane?

I’m getting old. I can tell by a number of signs.

1) My jawline’s getting a little lumpy. Or, well, pudgy.

I don’t know how to describe it; all I know is that I would greatly benefit from a little duck tape under my ears, pulling that pudginess back.

Hmmm. Flesh-colored duck tape. I could patent it and only charge half of the cost of plastic surgery and retire to Sifnos.

2) I have to get up in the night to use the bathroom.

It may not be a big deal to someone who keeps a neat house, but I’m not that someone. So I have to clamor for my glasses on a bedside table littered with books, jewelry, and, I might as well admit it, two cupcake papers from muffins I had for breakfast about a month ago.

Then I have to remove the cat from between my feet, untangle the sheets from around my legs, gingerly step across the room, avoiding any number of obstacles, usually related to laundry, and sneak past the door behind which is a very light-sleeping dog.

There is no possible path that avoids the squeaks and creeks of a hundred-year-old floor. Believe me, I’ve tried. Hug the wall – nope. Hug the railing – nope. Pick out an Indiana Jones style path – nope. I might as well invest in a chamber pot.

3) I can’t spend an entire day at a water park.

Hubby took me to one on Monday. Oh, the sights – hairy backs, pasty flesh, lumpy bodies that have no right to be in swimsuits.

And that was just us.

We started off strong, running up the massive flights of stairs, barely breaking stride. Then I don’t know what happened. After about 4 hours, it was all we could do to drag ourselves to the car and crawl down the highway (in the left lane) to get home and take a nap before the early-bird special at Myrna’s Buffet.

4) If I pluck out all my gray hairs I’ll look like Kojak.

So I guess I’ll bite the bullet and pay a ridiculous sum to get them turned brown.

No, home hair color is not for me – the last time I tried to color my hair I had to go straight to a salon to get it fixed before I could be seen in public, and the stylist asked if she could take a before-and-after picture. She’d never seen such a bad job! And of course, I had to fork out a ridiculous sum. It might as well be put in the budget, right alongside the Fibercon.

5) Teenagers drive me nuts.

Not mine, of course – she’s a middle-aged woman in a teenager’s body. But all the others!

I want to go up to the girls and stretch their shirts over their bellies and give all the “sagging” boys wedgies. One of these days a rapper is going to wear his BVDs on his head and we will officially become a nation of underwear-headgear idiots.

6) And lastly, I love to sit in my chair. Love it, love it, love it.

Can’t wait to get home in the evening and sit in my chair and put my feet up. No, I don’t want to go shopping. No, thank you, I don’t care to work out at the Y. Nope, I think I’ll pass on playing tennis. Pretty sure that would mean getting out of my chair.

Get me my Fibercon and my vibrating slippers and my chamberpot. I’m in for the night.