On Getting Older

I really hate the hairs I am suddenly sprouting on my chin. They bother me so much that I now carry tweezers with me at all times. The problem is, my eyesight has gotten so bad it's hard to pluck them because I can't see them. I know they are there though. Any time I touch my face, I can feel these little prickly hairs, and I can't stand the thought of someone who can still see such things noticing them. This getting older thing is not all it's cracked up to be. I'm only forty-seven, so I'm not exactly decrepit, but my waistline and upper arms are definitely not what they used to be. I have spider veins on my legs now. That's what my GRANDMOTHER used to have! When did I turn into my grandmother?! It's more than just appearance too. When I get up in the morning, I'm stiff and Doreen. My shoulder hurts, my hip hurts—everything hurts. Things didn't used to hurt. I remember being the youngster in the office, the one everyone turned to for fashion advice and dating questions. Now my co-workers are all kids who call to ask me how to get grass stains out of their sons’ baseball uniforms. Just for the record—I don't know. I never took Laundry 101. Back in the dark ages when I was in college, we didn't have washing machines. Go call your grandmother. Even though I am the last of the baby boomers, the world still revolves around the younger generation. Why is there no reality TV dating show like The Bachelor for women my age? Just because I can't wear four-inch heels because of my bunions, it doesn't mean I wouldn't be dating material if I were single. Then again, I wouldn't want to date even if I was single. I'm not showing these spider veins to anyone new. My husband, after all, is a year older than me. He has no idea about the spider veins and chin hairs because he can't see them either. I think I'll keep him.