Tuesday, June 05, 2012

I am aging, not gone


MORE Magazine was touted as for women of a certain age, which I took to be 40 and up, but which they apparently take to be any age insecure enough to care exclusively about wrinks and crinks and assorted aging topics.

Which laser is for which affliction—"hag hairs," “coffee drip” brown stains (on your skin, not your blouse, isn't that charming?).

MORE also had a story recently about siblings taking care of aging parents and how they don’t always get along. Well, gosh—really? And of course, there was the obligatory musing about how 60 is the new 40 or however that goes.

I am 68 and feel every second of it! I am not striding through the neighborhood in toreador pants, looking forward to my next low-cal smoothie.

I use leftover creams that have failed my sister. I secretly think hand lotion would be as good. Even a failed hand lotion.

My mailbox is stuffed with ads from forward-thinking crematoriums…oh, ick, go away. (Jeez, now watch Google put ads on here for those.)

This is all stupid. Forget the reversible skirts, the ebay originals, the creams made from the afterbirth of minks, etc. Just live, breathe a lot, be glad you can—and try to do something to help someone.

Did this help you?

If not—sorry. I meant to. I thought maybe you were cynically challenged.

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