As I age, I've been blessed with this nifty thing called osteoarthritis. Having limited mobility in my joints makes tending to girly duties considerably more difficult. As you might imagine, bending, twisting, and contorting my body to reach those nether regions has become more difficult. I've had to become quite inventive with my razoring techniques.
What used to be a 20 minute stint painting my toenails has become an hour-long event that should have been put in the Olympics by now. Not only do I have to turn every light on in the room, but I must wear reading glasses just to see what the hell I'm painting. Last time I did my own pedi without glasses on it looked as if they were painted by a 2 year old.
Feet are not the only thing difficult to reach. And I speak for many women my age when I say this, for the love of God and everything that is good in the world isn't it time for that monthly visitor to finally say a hearty farewell? I can see why bidets are so popular. Who knew an increase in skin folds coupled with gravity could be so, well, so pesky? The problems don't stop there, they keep going all the way to the top.
I used to wonder why every so often one might come across a blouse on the rack that had makeup all over it. I used to think women were just plain pigs, but I can see in my mind's eye how it might happen now. Dressing rooms. Just thinking about them brings on a cold sweat. I have had to learn how to remain calm as I stand stuck with head and shoulders in blouses or dresses. It takes a few seconds of wiggle time to shimmy things up and over now with the limited mobility in my shoulders. I still shudder when I recall the first time I got 'stuck'.
Don't even get me started on those damned mirrors. They stopped putting in 3-way mirrors so trying to see what you look like from behind is a virtual impossibility. I get chills up my spine just conjuring the image. Probably like one of those little old ladies who has what appears to be a serious case of bed head as the spot around the colic is swirled to and fro making her look relatively bald there.
Even clothing must be carefully planned. If I'm too hot I get sweaty and clothes and sticky sweat are a recipe for showing off all the fat rolls you are trying to hide. If I get too cold, I develop a lovely limp and grunt every time I move. So feminine.
To sweater or not to sweater, that is the question, but not the only one. Other clothing choices must be carefully planned. Thankfully I don't wear dresses very often. I was reminded recently why I do not. I watched two women my age get up and, well, how so I say this nicely? Their dresses were caught up in their cracks. Horrors. It was almost as bad as walking out of the restroom with your dress tucked into your pantyhose back in the day. Nowadays, thongs are like dental floss so one's dress comes back down pretty much with one female fanny swing to the left or to the right.
Winter has become a real challenge. If I get cold while sitting or sleeping, you could mistake me for Charlie Chaplin as I take my first several steps. Some days penguin might be a more apt description. Oh and stooping to pick up all the crap that I drop is thoroughly annoying now that my hands are nice and weak because these meet hooks for hands barely work right anymore. I swear they have a mind of their own. Thank God for opposable thumbs.
Yes I am painfully aware that I am aging, and I age probably as gracefully as is possible for me. I still twist and contort as I tend to those lady bits. I still paint my toenails, and wear high heels. I still dress up and love my girly jewelry and accessories. I just make sure that before I hit the door, I take a quick look in the mirrors to fix the bald spot and pull the skirt out of my crack.