As I face my upcoming significant birthday, I look back on the many things I have had to say goodbye to. Here is a short list:
1. Thick hair (on legs, arms, head, and well, you know where)
2. My waist (we gave it a good run)
3. High heels (I’m afraid of heights)
4. Loud music and concerts (I can’t hear you now)
5. Patience (I’m sure I had some at one time)
6. Bikinis (I’ve been asked not to show up wearing one…again)
7. Toenails that don’t look like they belong to an elephant
8. My arches (and we’re not talking about McDonalds)
9. My desire to clean toilets or bathtubs (I can’t even get out of a bathtub, let alone clean one)
I have faced the facts of growing older and have coped well, I believe. Things happen, things change, things drop, droop, slide, squish and plop. But today I read an article on elder sexuality that shook me to my core (it’s somewhere where my waist used to be that is now missing). The one thing that I thought would stay with me through thick glasses and thinning hair I am now told is dying. I am bereft to learn that at my age, one’s vaginal nerve endings are dying. I’m sure there is a special prayer for dying vaginal nerve endings, but I am too upset to find it. Who knew that one’s VNE would one day turn on me like my lactose tolerance did. Is Russia behind this? If I knew my VNE were going to abandon me, I would have enjoyed them more when I was using them.
But now I only have regret and a bald spot on the back of my head. So here I sit, in my bikini, in my bathtub, with my arches (I’m eating a McDonald’s burger), playing loud music, observing my silky no-hair arms, legs and you know what, while I patiently attempt to bend over my gut to cut my elephant toenails that are peaking out of my never worn high heels. Now can someone call 911 cause I can’t get up!