Mayday, Mayday! Bird down, bird down!
…. the Pentagon??!
Alert someone official! Because this shit is real and it’s happening now!
OK “technically” I should have been using my rear view mirror today as a piece of “safe driving equipment”, and not to put on a face full of makeup, do my hair and pluck my eyebrows – but come on, the old lady in her honda jazz in front of me was going slower than VERY SLOW THING and as you well know by now, I have an attention span of a mosquito…I get bored!
WAIT – what am I saying …
Time to trade in for a reliable hatchback, with plenty of boot space for my bowls bag.
We have a situation rubber ducky, Charlie, Victor, 10 4, over!!
My FACE is heading SOUTH and it really is all over…and out!!!
Wrinkle-dom is upon me. It is done. I am old. I am not young.
Why cruel world, why!
Yes, there it was. Evidence of not being young anymore, shining in the sunlight for all the world to see. The very first sign of aging.WRINKLES!!!!!!!
The development of crow’s feet and then further down, my cheeks oh gosh, my once lovely, youthful, girlish rosy cheeks now saggy and no bounce back when I squish them repeatedly with my panicked fingers.
Look, it has been a very traumatic 42 minutes since I first made my discovery. I spent the first 10 minutes sobbing and howling into my steering wheel – waving at traffic while flashing my lights to let me through.
The song on the radio I had been listening to now faded, something about lips and hips and butts and being young and sexy had turned into Barry Manilow’s Mandy.
So apt….so very sadly apt.
Like a very intensely focused maniac on a bad LSD trip, I then spent a good 8 minutes giving myself facelifts in the mirror by pulling my skin back as tight as I could and letting it go again, all while surveying the damage on the surface of my face, the same way scientists study surfaces of newly discovered planets. Tracing my fingers across the tectonic fractures, forming strangely complex calculations in my head. Pulled back not so bad, let go….BIRD DOWN BIRD DOWN!!!
While I have decided to try and remain dignified and age gracefully in the 42 minutes since I made my discovery, I have also simultaneously catapulted myself in front of my computer screen sobbing hysterically and have managed to google every anti-ageing cream, lotion, chemical peel and Botox situation in a 50-kilometre radius.
I don’t think I am being over dramatic when I say, LIFE AS I KNOW IT IS OVER and I am now going to live my life under a burlap bag.
I have to admit though, this hasn’t actually been quite the surprise as I first thought.
There may have been early warning signs.
I do sometimes find myself standing somewhere and cannot remember why or how I got there.
I search for longer than someone who does not have dementia should, for my glasses… while wearing my glasses. Oh yeah and I NOW WEAR GLASSES!
Hhhhhhoooooooo deep breaths Emma, deep breaths, 123,123,123.
I also have discovered there are more vitamin supplements and ‘keep me regular’ activity in my bathroom vanity then there are lipsticks or perfumes.
I buy comfortable underpants now not pretty ones – and it seems I now call them underpants! eeeep shield me from your judging, menacing eyes!
I spend more money on chiropractic pillows than I do shoes (this sentence has me now curled up on the floor banging my face against a glass pane).
While I am down here, I sat in a massage chair at the mall last week and had 2 goes.
I also walked past a Miller’s store while at the mall (for those of you young hipsters not familiar with Millers it caters to the 60 yrs plus crowd), and I thought to myself, that’s a mighty fine sweater.
I guess it’s OK to think these thoughts once and a while, as you pass a store, but cut to me 5 minutes later cramming 4 for $60.00 in a bag as I seriously weighed up the 2 for 1 flannel night shirts and you begin to think there is something going on here.
Maybe I should just succumb – buy a velour pantsuit and book in for a blue rinse.
The worst part is, my head is not as wise as my wrinkles make me.
While on the outside I am looking older and more mature, learned even.. underneath I am Pee Wee Herman meets a labrador puppy.
For instance, I don’t get myself into conversations with grownups…err I mean people, about insurance of any kind, because I do not understand what it is or what its all about. When I am in these conversations, I tend to say the word ‘rebate’ very carefully not to arouse suspicion.
You don’t even want to know what I manage to say when discussing negative gearing.
I have trouble navigating my way through any kind of public transport scenario, again I think this is something for grownups and have to have a 10 minute pep talk before buying a train ticket and I ask several times which platform and what do I do when the doors open.
I am not very good at washing clothes like other grown ups are, once there is a stain…it shall remain so – I usually just sadly and pathetically chuck it in the bin.
I leave clothes on the floor at the end of the day, and I sometimes eat vegemite on toast for dinner.
I still drink from a George Michael cup and wear a vintage Stuissy tshirt to bed…I say vintage because, it’s mine..like originally from 1992.
I listen to people in meetings and think about all the big words I can use so they don’t catch on I am a total faker, it does not matter how wrinkly I am or how many years of experience I have, when amongst grownups, I still feel like the 4 year old girl in her mum’s high heels looking up at everybody.
SO here I sit, looking old yet feeling helplessly young.
What to do, what to do..
I think my only real, clear option is to go ahead and book in for some botox as well as an industrial strength chemical peel, so that I look as fresh and youthful as one of the Real Housewives of Miami….
Can you believe she is 87! She doesn’t look a day over 32!
I could also go for Barry’s approach to ageing gracefully. Queue Music!
OOOOOOOOoooooh Maaaaaaandy, you came and you gave without tak-ing.