So... I hit the big 30 in roughly five months. I really thought I'd handle dirty-thirty well, I've never really been a vain person, and age is how you feel, not an actual number. I assumed being thirty was much like being twenty or twenty-five. For the last ten weeks or so, I've come to realize that dirty-thirty is going to be horrible, and any attempt to help me preserve me youth will fail miserably.
What led me to this assumption?
1.) The magnetic force that has somehow not only stopped my metabolism, but has allowed it to work in reverse. I'm never going to be a size 6 again, those 8's aren't looking too hopeful either. Yesterday my diet consisted of one lone lettuce leaf, a piece of extra gum, and licking the condensation from a coke can, automatically gained six pounds. You can't blame "bloating" forever so I'm coming to terms with it, through a twelve-step program called Belly-Bulgers anonymous.
2.) After two wonderful trips to the tanning bed I have a great connect the freckles game displayed on my back, arms, and shoulders. I've never been a freckle person, so I think these may be age spots. As if lying in your own sweat in a 115 degree coffin for twenty minutes wasn't bad enough punishment for a golden glow, I now can provide entertainment on long distance road trips.
3.) My vision, without glasses or contacts (my preferred weapon of choice) has dismally left occupancy, and is never coming back. Without the aforementioned re-enforcements, I couldn't see Santa dance with
bigfoot on yacht in the middle of the day.
4.) Forgetfulness is a constant companion, a few things I've lost... keys, debit card, cell phone, my ability to jump on a trampoline (
TMI).
5.) My body, well where to start? Pregnancy five years ago was the predecessor to the enormous hips, thighs, stomach and pretty much everything else that embodies the real me today. Parts that should be directionally up are slowly giving in to the Law of Gravity, despite all the Victoria's Secret and
Spanx in the world. Of course pregnancy is no excuse for letting your body go, I just happen to let my body go to
Hoskin's Drug Store a few too many times for gravy and biscuits while I was pregnant. There is no forgiveness to indulgence, people remember that!
6.) Crow's feet, or as I like to call them, "Memoirs of happier times, and smiles of the tight-skinned face".
7.) My need to indulge in youthful escapades.
For example, my love for all things "Twilight."No doubt strategically marketed to teens and early 20 somethings, I'm obsessed! Something about forbidden teenage love with a vampire, or werewolf is more than appealing to me.
Instead of wanting to buy clothes for a woman of my age, I find myself secretly longing to shop at places targeted for teens and college kids. When there isn't room for a stroller to fit between the stack of skinny jeans and the shirtless, guns-a-
blazin, cologne inducing
adonis of a sales associate, it's time to start shopping somewhere else.
I'm sure
thrity is much worse in my mind than actual reality. Or maybe it will get worse as the next five months progress onward. In the meantime I'll hold on to my last seconds of 29, and hope to find something that will eventually secure youth within me.
~C
