“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” ― Robert Frost
My mind refuses to be still, so let’s play along with it, shall we?
I didn’t date for 15 years straight while I was busy driving my daughter from soccer practice to basketball camp to softball tournaments. So, when I dipped my toe into the strange world of dating at my age, things had certainly changed! For example, it took a while for it to register in my brain that all the WAXING businesses popping up everywhere when I wasn’t looking are ripping body hair from more places than eyebrows. Wait, women are eliminating ALL their body hair these days, and men kind of expect that?? Am I understanding that correctly? News flash: I’ll go if he goes with me and we BOTH have hot wax spread in our nether regions and have it ripped out by the roots. Women: What are you thinking?? I’m not against a bit of trimming with nail scissors, but ye gods…….is this a male way of seeing exactly how much pain women will endure for the privilege of their company? Surely not, but what's up with this strange phenomenon?
I have to keep reminding myself that music lyrics have little to do with reality. Either that or lyricists transmit their love songs to Earth from a different spot in the Universe, as they then laugh and point at us trying to match the ridiculous with the real.
Have you ever noticed that the older we get the more closely aligned some people become with their ailments? Bumper stickers and clothing, and some people even RUN for their defeated—or hopefully soon to be defeated—condition. I don’t run on a good day.
And, no, I don’t want to see your hernia scar or any other scar on your body, either. As we age, we need to COVER up more, not flash unsuspecting passers-by with the rips and tears on our persons.
Speaking of covering up, how do I do that to the underside of my arms without covering up the rest? What’s with the striated skin under my arms, the area that looks like a miniature runway? I work hard for this toned upper body, but those damn little furrows keep pointing to my underarm….where, by the way, very little hair grows any more, which is ironic in view of our first topic.
Aging in today’s world is a cruel irony in that in the afternoon of our lives we know so much more…. as our bodies crumble around us. No wonder my mind won't quiet itself; it's too busy laughing.