THE DAY I HAVE DREADED HAS ARRIVED!

                                                           

The day I have most dreaded for over 10 years has finally come.  

*    I can deal with turning 75…I don’t like it but I can accept it. 

*    I can deal with losing more than winning at pickleball…I don’t like it but I have to accept it.  

*    I can cope with portions of my body sagging and swaying all at the same time…I don’t  like it but I find it amusing…in a tearful sort of way.  

*    I have given up on People Magazine or what I call “Who are These People” Magazine…I don’t like it but I don’t have to read it.  

*    I can deal with political differences…I don’t like it but as long as I know I am right and the other side is wrong….I can handle it.  

BUT, BUT, BUT….there is no turning back from what I have just discovered and I truly can’t, won’t, accept the inevitable.  Ladies, flared pants are back.  I know there is a lot of fake news, but I just saw the recent Banana Republic catalog and there they were…all loose and baggy at the bottom (like I’m not baggy enough there!!).  Why can’t the “Republic” go back to harvesting “Banana(s)” and leave us “well seasoned” ladies to our oversized tops and pants that provide us with some semblance of shapely legs.  It’s a conspiracy I tell ya and I’m not taking it anymore.  I knew this day would come and I am ready to protest.  Are you with me?…...are you there?.....are you taking a nap…or are you out shopping for the latest flare pants? 

Ode To My Aging Body

(Sung to the tune of Alan Sherman's Camp Granada)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yFTOvO0utY 

Hello Muddah, hello fadduh

This is Maxine, your youngest daughter

You are gone now, though I have memories

You need know what’s happened since you left me

I got older, but not so wiser

Now my bladder, acts like a geyser

And my body, once trim and fit

Is slowly turning into a pile of shit

My chin’s waddle, has come to roost

And my ass is, getting loose

My eyesight’s dimming, my hearing’s poor

And my hair is grey which, I don’t adore

Now I don’t want to, be complain’n

But my boobs are, not sustaining

Not so perky, sad to say

But that’s a story for another day

 

Why or why can this be true

I’m turning now to both of you

For heavenly answers … you can lie

And say I still  look   fifty-five

 

Whose to blame for this  disaster

Give me answers, that’s what I’m after

All my genes are fading fast

Tell me that my youthful body please will last

 

That’s what’s happened, it’s come to pass

I’m now a senior, and not a lass

I’m embracing, my new life

Turned off newscasts, so there’s no more strife

I’ve decided, no more mirrors

Cause without them, no more tears

Youth is great but, what was I saying

Oh yes, give a cheer for all of us who’re aging!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Know You've Been Home Bound Too Long

When Disposable Gloves don’t mean you are in for a rectal exam

When discussing Roots is not about the classic book, but is about your classic scalp

When three Squares a day isn’t about meals, but is about the amount of toilet paper you use at each bathroom event

When my credit card bill shows no charges other than groceries

When I see my real fingernails for the first time as they appear from under the remains of my acrylic ones

When you can only appreciate the price of gas from the comfort of your home

When making sure you are protected has nothing to do with sex

When the words “Instacart” and “Zoom” are your mostly commonly used words on Words with Friends

When “Binging” has more to do with TV than drinking ( or not)

When touching your face gets you arrested

When Dr. Faucci is looking kinda sexy

When the phrase “let it all hang out” relates to your bra in the drawer.  (I’m not providing the male version of this phrase!)

When you’re not insulted when your loved ones say “Stay At Home!”

When becoming a vegan is a real possibility

When you’ve worn a trail in your carpet from reaching your 10,000 steps daily

So, grab your gloves, dye your hair while you pull the 3 squares of tp while watching sexy Faucci say “Stay At Home”.  Then eat your beans and walk the carpet trail while fantasizing about pumping cheap gas bra-less.  That’s all for today.  I must get back to “Words with Friends” after I am paroled for touching my face. 

My Grocery Store Check Out Line ROAD RAGE!!

It was a quiet day in the grocery store.  People were seen picking up items they needed for current and future meals. I secured a few things in anticipation of my daughter’s visit over Labor Day weekend.  As I approached the check out line section, I handily avoided my strong desire to grab the cheddar drenched popcorn and barely made it past the candy bars whose wrappers were waving at me.  I had my cloth grocery bag ready to accept the nutritious items in my cart and began searching for the shortest checkout line.  I could have tried standing and waiting for self check out.  But I had already checked myself out in the mirror in the morning and felt two times in one day was overkill.

I started to engage check out line #4 but saw that #1 had only 2 people and the last person in line only had one item.  Without signaling, I used my best pickleball moves and scooted into line #1.  Just as I reached the end of the conveyor belt and was ready to place my items on it, the husband of the woman in front of me with one item showed up with full cart in tow.  I wanted to call “no cutsies”, but thought better of it as I am polite.  After removing said items from his cart plus the one item the wife had, he proceeded to keep the empty cart behind him rather in the preferred front position, preventing me from putting my items on the belt.  I took this to be a rather aggressive move, but being the non-confrontational person that I am (along with being polite is a great combo!), I simply reached forward and lightly released my items air born so as to land on the belt and prepare me to be ready for checkout when my time came.  

Without looking backward, “husband” aggressively shoved my items back almost pushing them off the belt.  So much for being polite and non confrontational.  This was grocery store road rage time.  I would have rolled up my sleeves, but I was wearing a short sleeved shirt.  I thought through my strategy of what I could do to retaliate.  I could whip out a banana but that wouldn’t scare him as I only bought over ripe ones for banana muffins.  I could pummel him with the frozen blintzes I bought, but then I might be arrested for assault with a frozen weapon.  I could sushi him to the ground, but then I wouldn’t have food for dinner.  So, instead, I puffed out my chest (and if you have recently seen my chest it really doesn’t make a big impression.  I know that because I did the self check in the morning), took a deep breath and thought nasty things to say….but didn’t say them.  You see, I am an avid Judge Judy watcher and I know that any rage at any time can turn back on you.  So, I gave him my evil eye (but his back was to me so he didn’t see it), but it did scare a few people in self check out #1 & 2 (or perhaps it was my puffed out chest that scared them).  The moral of the story?  Don't buy over ripe bananas!

IS NETFLIX RUINING MY SEX LIFE

I recently read that a survey showed that Netflix is negatively affecting the sex life of its viewers.  It seems that men and women prefer streaming to sex.

I learned about sex in the Fifties from Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.  Sex happens in separate twin beds.  Thus, why it took me so long to find a husband that could fit into my mine.  Once that was accomplished, things went along pretty well for 32 years.  The beds got larger and we streamed 2 daughters. Then 8 years ago I found myself alone and left to my own devices.  I took that to mean electronic devices.  My mix master was too dangerous, my electric knife was a no go, my Keurig was a possibility, and my belt sander was a bit too rough.  So I did what any normal single woman would do…I tried using the vibrating feature on my cell phone…without much success.

Thankfully, someone understood my dilemma and created Netflix.  Now, not only is Netflix NOT ruining my sex life, it is actually my “go to” source for my sex life, along with HBO, The Comedy Channel and National Geographic.  So let me say thank you to all those streaming stations that allow me to feel like a vital woman again.  (And don’t get me started on the “streaming” feature.  My bladder streams all night long).

Forget John Boy.  Give me John Snow!  Bye, bye Lucy.  Hello “Sex Education”  (a UK based Netflix series starring Gillian Anderson).  I still love my twin bed and until something changes, me and my remote control are  sublimely happy together.

IT’S HARD TO SAY GOODBYE

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!

What is Your Identity Worth?

                                

I just read that you can insure your identity through your homeowner’s or renter’s policy for as little as $25.  So of course I signed up, because there shouldn’t be an insurance policy in existence that I don’t have! 

But the questions that arose after I aroused myself from my slumber, sleep walking, sleep peeing, snoring and thrashing were these.  What is my identity, i.e., WHO AM I?  WHY AM I HERE?  WHERE AM I? WHAT AM I? And most importantly, WHO CARES?  Well, obviously the insurance company cares because they want my $25.  But is my identity worth more than that?

A pickleball friend recently downgraded my nickname from MaxiMillion to MaxiDollar. Was this because he saw my stock market portfolio or was he acutely aware of the true value of my identity?  So I needed to investigate this further by answering the questions that I had to write down so I could remember them to answer them.

First identity question:  WHO AM I?  I look in the mirror, but all I see is my mother’s face looking back at me.  And she looks really, really old…grey hair (thinning), wrinkles (deepening), teeth (losing).  Is this me or a mere reflection of what is to come (or is already here)? 

Next identity question:  WHY AM I HERE?  Well, obviously if I am looking in the mirror, then I am in the bathroom and if I am in the bathroom, then I am here to pee.  And that has great value!

Question #3:  WHERE AM I?  This is a question that is asked every morning when I arouse myself.  And then asked again multiple times during the day.  The problem is I don’t have the correct answer as many times as I ask the questions.  I’m trying to use the Hansel and Gretel method of bread crumbs (or leftover matzo crumbs) but find that I eat more than I drop.

Question #4:  WHAT AM I?  Old lives matter.  That’s what I am and I value what it took to get me here (where am I?  No, problem, I have some bread crumbs leading me back to the bathroom).   I have value and as soon as the stock market rebounds, I will have more value.  Hopefully enough to pay for an Uber to get me home.

Last Question:  WHO CARES?  Answered already which is why my State Farm agent is now my bestie.