While lying in bed the other night it occurred to me that getting older is getting less and less fun and more and more of a chore.
I commented on this to my husband who was lying next to me quietly reading his latest novel which was neatly propped up on a cushion on his chest...his layered clip on reading glasses sitting on his nose ...his head lying at a 45degree angle to the pillow displaying a profile I have etched in my memory as a result of over 30 years of married life. This profile serves to convince me that when one is doing something one loves then one becomes at least 75% even more attractive to others.
After hearing my mumbling complaint about age he absent mindedly asked, "How so? " --eyes never leaving the page.
As I put down my own 800 page novel and removed my Drug Store Reading glasses and rubbed my aching wrist that had tired from holding such a book, I reminded him that the mere fact that we were both in bed reading at 8:45 in the evening was an example of the limited fun to be had at our age.
I continued on by describing the betrayal I felt by my own body.
I pointed out that even on a Saturday night I could no longer half attempt to get even a little buzz on anymore , not because I couldn't afford the booze or hadn't the time, it was merely because I couldn't stay up late enough for the alcohol to kick in.
I reminded him that even eating had become a challenge as unless I only eat porridge or dry white bread I am prone to acid reflux and heartburn. Anything I do eat anymore just seems to turn to fat and even if I just eat veggies and fruits and do lose weight my face and arms have the look of a deflated balloon.. soft, wrinkly, and Hallowe'enish.
I went on to say that the real kicker is that my shoulders hurt me if I sleep on my side, my heartburn gets me if I lie on my back, and if I do sleep more than 3 good hours, I wake up having to use the washroom ASAP and my poor knee then aches all the worse because it has been lying still for so long.
I also pointed out that to add insult to injury, I keep thinking I am 65 instead of 61. What the reason that would be is anyone's guess except the obvious slow progressive onset of a type of dementia.
At the end of this almost weepy tirade, the reader beside me stirred, turned his head a shade in my direction and simply said, "It's not so bad. You are still doing pretty good."
Mollified only slightly, I turned over , switched off the bed light , squeeched down under the covers for a bit of a cuddle and promptly and without warning...
.....farted.
I commented on this to my husband who was lying next to me quietly reading his latest novel which was neatly propped up on a cushion on his chest...his layered clip on reading glasses sitting on his nose ...his head lying at a 45degree angle to the pillow displaying a profile I have etched in my memory as a result of over 30 years of married life. This profile serves to convince me that when one is doing something one loves then one becomes at least 75% even more attractive to others.
After hearing my mumbling complaint about age he absent mindedly asked, "How so? " --eyes never leaving the page.
As I put down my own 800 page novel and removed my Drug Store Reading glasses and rubbed my aching wrist that had tired from holding such a book, I reminded him that the mere fact that we were both in bed reading at 8:45 in the evening was an example of the limited fun to be had at our age.
I continued on by describing the betrayal I felt by my own body.
I pointed out that even on a Saturday night I could no longer half attempt to get even a little buzz on anymore , not because I couldn't afford the booze or hadn't the time, it was merely because I couldn't stay up late enough for the alcohol to kick in.
I reminded him that even eating had become a challenge as unless I only eat porridge or dry white bread I am prone to acid reflux and heartburn. Anything I do eat anymore just seems to turn to fat and even if I just eat veggies and fruits and do lose weight my face and arms have the look of a deflated balloon.. soft, wrinkly, and Hallowe'enish.
I went on to say that the real kicker is that my shoulders hurt me if I sleep on my side, my heartburn gets me if I lie on my back, and if I do sleep more than 3 good hours, I wake up having to use the washroom ASAP and my poor knee then aches all the worse because it has been lying still for so long.
I also pointed out that to add insult to injury, I keep thinking I am 65 instead of 61. What the reason that would be is anyone's guess except the obvious slow progressive onset of a type of dementia.
At the end of this almost weepy tirade, the reader beside me stirred, turned his head a shade in my direction and simply said, "It's not so bad. You are still doing pretty good."
Mollified only slightly, I turned over , switched off the bed light , squeeched down under the covers for a bit of a cuddle and promptly and without warning...
.....farted.
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