So the hubby and I were talking tonight, ( I’ve become my mother…starting my stories mid-sentence) and I told him that I expected something major this year for my birthday.  He played stupid…at least I think he was playing, and said why?  Well, you know my dear ones, why this birthday is special.  I have only been going on about it for the last six months or so.  So I said to him, “I will never live as long again as I have lived already this half of my life.”   Age makes you stupid.

Age also makes you avoid mirrors.  When I was young I used every reflective surface I could find to look at myself.  Now I can get naked in front of a full length mirror, shower, lotion, and redress without ever sneaking a peek.  I can also undress under all the bedding reach over and turn out the lights and have sex with my husband without ever glimpsing skin.  I figure I am doing both of us a solid.  I don’t have to be embarrassed, and he doesn’t have to pretend he likes what he sees. My dad once said when he looked at my mother he still saw the fifteen year old girl he fell in love with.  While sweet, it was probably only true when she was fully clothed.  No one can look at an out of shape middle aged woman and even pretend to be aroused.  Sure there are stars older than me who have killer bodies, but they have trainers and dietitians who make sure they look like they are half their age.  Some of them have great bodies, but are so thin they look harsh.  This is not a problem I deal with.  I have fully developed my “Emmy” body.  If The Precious wants to lean back on my boobs he has great pillows for his relaxation.  The funny thing about that is…The Precious loves boobs.  Sometimes while he is on my hip he will just start squeezing my boobs.  I don’t stop him because I figure calling attention to it is wrong, but I am pretty sure feeling Emmy up is wrong too.  The way I see it, this is a parental issue.  The way I see it almost all issues involving The Precious, are parental.

What I can do to help with aging is wax my face, color my hair, and things of that nature.  I have a dear friend who does lash extensions and she has been kind enough to do my lashes for the last six weeks or so.  This seems to have helped.  At least I don’t have to wear mascara.  I told my hubby that I thought ridding myself of the bags under my eyes would be a great birthday present.  My eye bags are a gift from my dad.  All of that side of the family have horrible bags under the eyes.  I told him that if I could rid myself of them I would look, if not younger, at least rested.  He suggested that rather than have the bags removed, we could just pack them and go on a trip.  I’m pretty sure if we packed these babies we could go for a month long cruise and have clothes left over.  “Excuse me ma’am, are those carry on?  Can you get them inside the size meter?”  People might die.  I can just hear them telling me I have to pay and extra $50 for the two extra bags.  So from my dad I got short, bull-headed, and eye bags.  I also got gorgeous blue eyes and his smile…for those things I’m grateful so there is no point in talking about them.  When last I was carded I laughed because I thought the poor dear was kidding.  When first I was carded I laughed because I was finally legal and didn’t have to worry about not being old enough.  It’s amazing what makes you laugh when you are older.  For instance, when The Precious does things I spanked his father for…I laugh.  Not in front of him or at least not always.  Still, I do laugh.

 Anyway, my point is he had better go big on my birthday.  I will never be 50 again and I want it recognized.  I will not go quietly.  I will continue to age with great disdain.  I will whine and cry and kick and scream.  I fully intend to make everyone grateful when I go.  I don’t want them to be sad.  I have always thought of others first, and myself last.  In fact, I would have that put  on my tombstone if I intended to have one.  “Here lies The Precious’ Emmy.  She always put others first.  She lies here fully clothed.”

 

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