When I was 4 years old I used to wonder what things would be like when I became 21, my mother’s age at the time. (She had married and had me at a very young age.) I would ponder what the world would be like and what the future held.
When I was 21, my thoughts again turned to what life would be like when I became Mom’s age, then 39. When I finally reached that age I found that I could no longer wonder about what it would be like to be as old as Mom. I was 39, but so was Mom … still … and she shows no sign of budging off that magical number.
I suggested recently that perhaps she had numerical dyslexia, that she looks great for 93, I mean 39. That garnered me some kind of ancient Italian curse and threats about being cut from the will.
I do think Mom is onto something. They say age is just a number and you’re only as young or old as you feel. As I write this column, I tolerate—I mean celebrate—yet another 39th birthday. So why do I feel so old?
I think it’s because of the change in life, and I don’t mean menopause. My body has become like a well-worn mattress. What was once firm and bouncy is now soft and flat. Even my sags are sagging. I should be nominated for a S.A.G. award—Sagging Attributed to Gravity! And if the bags under my eyes grow any larger my face will fall into them!
Could some expert please tell me why is it that ears and noses keep growing but fingernails don’t? I’m so glad I’m typing on a computer keyboard and not a typewriter. Oh, yes, I used those devices. I go back to the manual versions. The electronic IBM typewriters were like science fiction realized back then! Both the manual and electric machines were killers for manicures. Now my nails have become so brittle that they break at the very sight of a pull-tab on a soda can.
Oh, and please don’t get me started on hair. I’m talking about whiskers! I now realize why spouses start to look alike as they grow older together. As men grow older they prefer to shave less. As women age we grow facial hair, thus resembling our bristly husbands!
Hair removal used to be so easy, involving only my legs and underarms. I try to regularly visit my aesthetician and depilation guru, Keri, at Healing Touch Day Spa. She is a waxing master and not a single, stray hair escapes her deft touch. Once expertly whipped from their follicles, hairs take weeks to grow back, velvety soft, not the itchy, stiff stubble caused by shaving.
Keri has always been swift and gentle, so I experience minimal discomfort—perhaps a brief, slight sting—and the results are worth it. But on a recent visit she changed the game plan. I lay relaxed while soothing music played, then suddenly my chin was momentarily on fire!
“What was that?” I gasped. “A whisker,” Keri calmly replied. “You had a long whisker on your chin and I plucked it.”
Now, it was bad enough to hear that I had a chin whisker, but a long whisker? “How long?” I queried.
“Oh, it was 2 inches at least,” Keri said. “You have a mustache, too.”
“Keri, that’s a shadow!” I argued.
“No, it’s a mustache,” she gently countered. “Would you like me to remove it?”
Well, the only answer to that question was, “For the love of God, yes, please!”
Great, I have facial wrinkles that cannot be blamed on having slept on a creased pillowcase, circles under my eyes that rival anything found in a cornfield, and now a mustache! Just call me the wild woman of Borneo!
And I’m not done yet! Hey, it’s my birthday party and I’ll vent if I want to.
I used to be teased about wearing mom pants made of knit denim with a high, elastic waistband. These fashion faux pas have beaucoup room in the seat to accommodate wide hips, and a relaxed fit everywhere else, from waist to hem. Now I wear grandma pants, anything loose fitting, soft, draped, and having built-in saddlebags for my saddle sags. We’re talking palazzo pants, people!
It gets worse. I recently had to shop for a new bathing suit. To find my size I usually have to go to the awning section of the local patio store. I prefer wearing a one-piece, but I did try on a bikini and never recovered. The bikini, that is. I think it’s still wedged in there somewhere and I may need surgical intervention to remove it.
In my younger years I would step into my swimsuit and sleekly pull it on as I straightened up. Everything fell neatly into place and I rocked the one-piece, strapless maillot!
Now trying on a bathing suit takes stamina, strategy, and courage, as well as a certain set of skills worthy of Liam Neeson. Frankly, I’d rather see Liam Neeson try on a bathing suit!
First, I have to place the suit neatly on the floor so I can put one foot into each leg opening. Then I have to carefully tug, wiggle, and squirm as I pull the suit up and over my tush (this is the stamina part).
Once I am able to catch my breath, I bend at the waist, or what I think used to be my waist, and strategically situate each breast into its appropriate cup and jiggle them into place. One false move here and I become fodder for Instagram and YouTube!
Slowly I stand upright and adjust the straps over my shoulders. These are now essential as over-the-shoulder boulder support for me and as a safety measure to protect the general public from potential rockslides.
Once the suit is on, I smooth out the back and take another deep breath. Then I courageously look in the three-way mirror, have a good cry, and repeat with a different swimsuit until I find one that won’t frighten small children and alarm the lifeguards.
When I really want to let my freedom flag fly, I skip the pool and the beach. Those places are really for walking, meditating, reading, relaxing, and watching athletic male lifeguards watch me.
Instead I go to the Sycamore Springs and soak in the altogether in the outdoors. There I answer to no one but the God who made me. All things considered, he did a decent job as my birthday suit has held up pretty well. It may be a bit stretched out, but it’s a classic that will never go out of style.
Ariel Waterman knows her mother is always right, and plans on being 39 forever. Send swimsuit coverups via Arts Editor Joe Payne at jpayne@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Mar 31 – Apr 7, 2016.