The year after next I shall be 50. FIFTY! How on earth did that happen? I’m the baby of the family so that must make the others positively ancient!
My dad was 56 when he died. This is a scary thought. I am almost as old as my dad - I know that’s not logical but you get my drift. My husband will turn 56 this week - also scary for so many reasons but none that I care to dwell on.
So do I feel 50? Do I feel ‘middle-aged’? No, of course I don’t - inside I still feel like a pathetic 18 year old, always wondering if I’m doing the right thing, acting appropriately, giving off the right message.
But then there are the little ‘reminders’ - the subtle little digs that make you realise you are ageing!
Feel free to add your own, but here are mine:
- I am now totally unable to cope with small print. I can see for miles but give me a jar to read and I’m absolutely stuffed. I made it to this ripe age without needing assistance and I hate to hear people say to me now, ‘Oh, you can’t see that without your glasses, can you?’
- At an absolute push, I can do two late nights on the trot but I most definitely pay for it. Gone are the days of surviving on two hours sleep - I did this for a year when hubbie and I were ‘courting’ (now that does show my age!)
- My face takes forever to wake up in the morning. I know Twiggy says the same, so I feel I’m in good company. The only upside is that I know I will improve as the day goes on. By four o’clock I’m not scaring quite so many small children.
- I hear myself sounding like my mother when I talk to my son. ‘Well, in my day …’ and ‘You mark my words!’ I give advice that I know won’t be taken - and serves me right really! Did I listen to my parents’ advice? Not a lot …
- Although my son has a very varied taste in music and appreciates everything from Bowie to jazz, there are still some tracks that I’m subjected to in the car that leave my ears bleeding. I can often be heard saying, ‘Sorry, it’s just not music!’
- Just as I vowed I’d never be one of those mums who discussed the best brand of disposable nappy, I also swore I’d never discuss the price/quality of meat at various supermarkets. I am sadly guilty of having done both. I hang my head in shame.
- I have become pragmatic. I now accept that there are some things you are unable to alter - fighting them, moaning about them or worrying about them won’t change a thing. It’s taken me many years, and lots of coaxing from my husband, but I now know it makes sense. I channel my energies elsewhere.
- I see the loneliness of my mum and feel that I’m not too far away from that. Husbands, friends, siblings die and we’re left alone. Old age can be cruel and I don’t look forward to it. Who wants the highlight of the week to be a visit to the doctors or chiropodist?
- I can’t bear to see young boys with their trousers half way down their bum-crack. I’m sure, as a teen, I wouldn’t have found this a turn-on then either. I just don’t get it! They even have to adjust their walk in an attempt at keeping them up. I have an overwhelming urge to hoist them up by their waistbands and chuck a belt at them. I fear this would result in arrest though.
- I don’t look at babies and go all gooey. I look at them and think, ‘Phew, mine’s a teen and lets me sleep as long as I want!’ I do however look at dogs and go gooey - a companion for my fast approaching old age!
Hope I’ve not depressed you too much. The upsides to look forward to are - no spots, not caring what people think and no more monthly visits from the glorious Mother Nature.
Bring it on!
Both my novels are available at Amazon and Lulu.