That’s why I am a big fan of gradual aging.
My butt fell at age 35.
When I was 43 my waist moved to another location – a half-inch below my rib cage.
And the morning after my 50th birthday, both of my knees gave birth to triplets.
Had those significant changes taken place in one day, I might have needed emergency care. But because it happened slowly, I had plenty of time to adjust.
Now that my eyesight is worse, I can’t see your features unless I am close enough to give you a hickie. And if I have to pee, I will run right over you like a race horse.
On a positive note, I do little of what I don’t want to do. No one is allowed to boss me around. And people-pleasing is now a disease of my past.
Some females my age stomp on my old-lady nerves by insisting that fashion changes accompany aging.
Supposedly, I am now too old to go barefoot.
I am too old for long hair and a nose piercing.
One stuffy chick even has the nerve to frequently announce that women in their 50s and 60s should embrace pearls and plaid. That is code, of course, for me to clean up my act.
“You won’t ever see me wearing pearls, plaid or polyester,” I say to her with an eye roll. “For me, this is the year for pretty pajamas.”
Oh, and I loathe pants.
Someone wrinkled and honked off also decided that people my age are too old to order fried anything on a menu.
That’s why an honest moment during a luncheon is downright delicious to me.
My skinny friends ask something ridiculous, such as, “Sherri, want to share the soup and salad special?”
And I can easily answer. “Nope. While you nibble lettuce, I am ordering gravy on whatever sounds insanely high in calories.”
People also tell me that spending too much time in the sun has given me more wrinkles than normal.
Well, that observation is probably very true.
At the same time though, I would never trade my heavenly hours at the beach for a well-moisturized face and a miserably judgmental, uptight attitude.
I adore the moments when I finally feel better about myself. I now protect my heart by avoiding mean people and a generally nasty environment filled with critics and gossips.
By this age in this life, I finally understand and accept the fact that I can’t do anything to change people who lie and manipulate. I can’t force anyone to do anything, and I don’t care what they do or don’t do, anyway.
From day to day I can only control what I do in my world with my happy combination of wrinkles and gravy, pajamas and joy.
With age comes so much wisdom and insight, served up in a big box of authenticity. You will never hear me say that I wish I could turn back my clock. These are the best years of my life. I finally have the freedom to be exactly who I am.
And personally, I think my designer-quality wrinkles are one of my best qualities.