Saturday, July 15, 2017

I’ve lost my “I.” Yup, the “I” that stands for Identity as some hot young mama who turns heads. Used to turn heads, still do on occasion but not sure if they were looking at me or my shoes. My shoes still turn heads, and they have an “I,” but it kind of ends there.

So what’s a little hair loss, a crepey jowl and an elephant knee or two? It’s inevitable, people. You can’t fight it. Your genetics kick in somewhere after 50, and it’s a total crap shoot after that. You remember those pearly whites you had when you were twenty-something? Well, the pearls yellow with time. The good news is that you can get these cute little trays and bleach those puppies, but that’s about 400 bucks, the last I checked, and your insurance won’t have anything to do with your vanity.

Remember that collagen you were born with? Well, it disappears each year at an alarming rate. By the time you’re 50-something, you need to think about gravity and the latest injection. If you’re really brave, you can do the mini facelift, but it only lasts about seven years, and then you’re right back to the pull-your-face-back-in the-mirror routine. 

Remember that tone you used to have in your arms and your buttocks? The good news is that it only takes about two hours a day of weight-lifting to maintain that, provided you have good genes. If not, you’re stuck with long sleeves and a good sense of humor.

Remember those stilettos you used to prance around in? Well, for many, those days are gone. I got one good thing—strong feet, so I’m still prancin’ in my 70s! 

Remember that energy you used to have in your twenties? Well, for many, that’s only a vague memory. I still have the energy I had in my youth, but I choose to do other things with it like write maudlin poems and silly essays. Seriously, I have an incredible amount of energy, but I’m burned out of a lot of things that require it. I played golf and tennis for years. I hiked for miles. I shopped every mall within a 100-mile radius. I stayed up late and played bridge (I am convinced that used up most of my brain cells in the 60s.) I traveled abroad so many times, I can’t remember which year I went where, but I know that it took great stamina shlepping my huge valise from country to country. When I used to have eyelashes, I batted them, and nice foreign men would shlep them (my bags, not my eyelashes) up and down the train station stairs. 

I used to have an almost photographic memory. I still have a little left, at least enough to memorize my one-hour script and piano music for my one-woman shows. Don’t ask me where I put the bug spray though. 

I remember my 86-year-old grandma telling me, “I feel like I’m 25 years old.” What? How could she feel so young when she looked so old. Of course, I was in my late teens when she told me that when anyone over 23 was ancient.

Yes, it is all in the eyes of the beholder. I need some really old semi-blind, still kickin' beholders to take a look at me and say, “Wow! You are one hot mama!”