I was getting dressed and leaned over only to notice what appeared to be a third breast hanging down from my mid-region. I quickly called to Geoff, my husband, to “take a look at this”, which he did and then walked away replying “I wish you wouldn’t have shown me that.” I could only respond with laughter which caused an even more disturbing site as all three boobs bounced about.
When my very pregnant ophthalmologists told me that I had the start of cataracts, I must have responded with a surprised and concerned look as she then assured me that that was normal “for someone my age”.
Working as a finish carpenter, I am often the lone woman surrounded by many men. On one occasion I caught myself adjusting my posture after spotting a rather nice-looking fellow on the job and then suddenly realized I was old enough to be his mother. I think it might have been possible for me to be his grandmother but I wasn’t willing to do the math.
Periodically I will drop something small, say a pencil, a tissue, a sock, and I will reach down to pick it up and then straighten up without having picked up the item. And I will bend back down and straighten up, again with no item having been retrieved. And I’ll do it again. And maybe a fourth or even fifth time, no longer even trying to stifle obscenities from bursting from my mouth. I do not ever remembering doing such a thing when “I was young”. Maybe I did, in which case this is not an issue of fine motor skills deteriorating with age but rather another example of my memory going to hell.
Working as a finish carpenter, I am often the lone woman surrounded by many men. On one occasion I caught myself adjusting my posture after spotting a rather nice-looking fellow on the job and then suddenly realized I was old enough to be his mother. I think it might have been possible for me to be his grandmother but I wasn’t willing to do the math.
Periodically I will drop something small, say a pencil, a tissue, a sock, and I will reach down to pick it up and then straighten up without having picked up the item. And I will bend back down and straighten up, again with no item having been retrieved. And I’ll do it again. And maybe a fourth or even fifth time, no longer even trying to stifle obscenities from bursting from my mouth. I do not ever remembering doing such a thing when “I was young”. Maybe I did, in which case this is not an issue of fine motor skills deteriorating with age but rather another example of my memory going to hell.
I handed my credit card which had my picture imprinted on it dating back to my 20s, to the two young women behind the counter at the vet clinic where I take our dogs. They both marveled at the great idea of my picture on the credit card and then stared back at me, critiquing. I explained how old the picture was, that I should probably update it and, yes, I color my hair, to which one of them responded "lighter hair looks better on older women" and then they both nodded their young heads with their beautiful, shiny hair.
It was some time after the incident above that I decided to stop coloring my hair and return to my darker shade of brown. After several weeks, it was apparent that I was coloring more gray than brown, and even the brown was not what it used to be. Although I thought I was maybe, possibly, okay with it, Geoff took one look and said “I’m not ready for that”. Back to the box.
It was some time after the incident above that I decided to stop coloring my hair and return to my darker shade of brown. After several weeks, it was apparent that I was coloring more gray than brown, and even the brown was not what it used to be. Although I thought I was maybe, possibly, okay with it, Geoff took one look and said “I’m not ready for that”. Back to the box.
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