Playing Mahjong and Cutting Diamonds

A couple months ago, I turned 43. It’s not really a magical number, or a special birthday, but it got me thinking about getting older. I don’t feel 43, but then again, I guess I don’t know how 43 is supposed to feel. I know my metabolism has not just slowed down, I firmly believe that it’s actually going in reverse. I also know that no matter how many kegels I do a day (the only exercise I do religiously, by the way), I still end up peeing a little during a violent sneeze. And since I have to pee pretty much every 45 minutes or so and have allergies, that’s basically a weekly occurrence. So sexy. You know what else is sexy? The one random jet black stray hair on the underside of my chin that I first discovered when I was 36. Okay, truth be told, my friend discovered it while I was driving and she was in the passenger seat. It was a beautiful Michigan afternoon; the sun was shining and the sky was blue. Suddenly she said, “What is that????” I said, “What?” and almost ran into the guardrail. She said, “You have a long hair growing under your chin.” I looked up in the rear view mirror but couldn’t see anything, so I reached up to feel. I basically almost cut myself on what felt like a foot long, single strand piece of industrial strength steel wire that could probably cut diamonds. I immediately freaked out (and again almost hit the guardrail). Because it was so long I was able to pull it out (that’s what he said), but then I spent the next ten minutes breathing heavily and wondering what the hell had happened to me (and that’s what she said).

I also started thinking more about getting older when at lunch a few weeks ago my friend and I saw a group of slightly older women playing what appeared to be mahjong. They were all of a certain age, but not old enough to be in a home. In other words, they are justifiably receiving AARP mailings. I think they were having fun, but it was difficult to tell for sure. If they were having fun, they did an outstanding job of keeping their jocularity hidden. All I could think was that when I am their age (please God let that be at LEAST twenty years from now), I don’t want to be sitting sedately in a local eatery playing a game I can barely pronounce. I want to be out and about, DOING FUN STUFF. Sorry for shouting.

Ironically, if out and about means the area between my refrigerator and my couch, well, then I guess I’m already there. Sadly, as of late I have been fighting the urge to eat every single Reduced Fat Ruffle in the greater Houston area, and I’ve been eating pasta like I’m running marathons every other day. It’s a bit scary. At first I was blaming it on my period (which thank God I still have….yes, I said THANK GOD), but that isn’t it. Wait, that reminds me (I’m digressing again), the other day at work I asked a younger male coworker if it was hot in the office. He said, “No. It’s just your hot flashes.” It was all I could do not to separate his manhood from his body and throw it out the window Lorena Bobbitt style, or throat punch him, or, better yet, both. His smug little smile and chuckle made every nerve ending in my body start firing, and probably made that hair in my chin start growing again (it only comes out every couple months…..that’s what she said). However, I handled the situation with a disappointing “Haha…..yeah, you’re funny,” and walked slowly back to my cubicle while screaming profanities inside my head. Woe to him who pulls that shit with me when I actually do begin having hot flashes. I already have a normal temp of 99.1 and I sweat just pulling down my Spanx in the bathroom……hot flashes will probably be the death of me. Or of someone else. What was I talking about?

Oh, yes, the struggle. The damn struggle with food and aging and society and blah blah blah. IT IS REAL. I am lucky that the stress I’ve endured over the course of my life has manifested itself in my GI tract and not in my hair. What I’m saying is that I’m still not entirely or even partially gray, but I pulled the seventh gray hair out of my head a couple weeks ago and shed a few tears over it. If I don’t have “Wow, you don’t look like you’re in your 40’s at all!” then what do I have??? My sense of humor? Everyone knows what men think about a girl with a good sense of humor. And right now, my short, round, slightly lumpy self definitely fits that bill. Ugh. “But you have such a pretty face!” Whatever. The good news is, I’ve mostly just given up even worrying about finding a man, even though I’m stuck in a damn eHarmony subscription until next July (hopefully it’s at least good fodder for this blog). Unless Marshall Mathers calls me and wants to hang out, I pretty much don’t care. Plus I just joined Sam’s Club again so I can stock up on industrial size packages of AA and AAA batteries. Thanks for reading my stream of slightly unconscious ramblings.

And oh by the way…….I’m back!