“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of us all? You had better lie or I will bawl!”
The most valuable tool in the female’s arsenal is said to be the mirror. However, my mirror is now shrouded in black as I mourn our once-trusting relationship. It started to highlight the fine lines networking my face, my droopy eyelids and the hair sprouting on my chin and the no longer young body. After all our years together, its betrayal was a dagger in my heart. Recently, in a weaker moment, my eyes strayed to my reflection in a full-length mirror. OMG!!! ”Let it all hang out” had taken on a whole new meaning. My finely sculpted biceps had sagged into ‘granny muscles’. My slim firm thighs had turned to jelly. The crepey skin, where did that come from? I found that the inch and a half in height I had lost was now around my waist. Packing tape augments my lift and separate bra but perky I am not. What to do??? I searched for support from a formerly very good friend. She (a sadist, I now realize) had suggested all-encompassing spandex two sizes too small. She assured me it would contain the floppy bits and add body definition. I burnt rubber getting to the store to buy the armour. It did indeed mold my body but not into a human shape. It inhibited my breathing to the point of crisis. So it was back to baggy shirts and sweaters with sleeves. The mirror’s final deceit happened when it reflected my aged mother staring at me. The trauma has scarred me for life. Since that crushing blow, mirrors get only a cursory look when brushing my hair, the only “Fifty Shades of Grey” in my life. Granted, other quick checks are warranted, but given reluctantly. Lipstick on the thin reminders of luscious lips, is applied via autopilot. Vanity has begrudgingly given way to reality, a reality I chose to deny, forget, and not see (no mirrors!) Aging can be so sinister!
“Grandchildren don’t make a woman feel old, it’s the knowledge that she’s married to a grandfather that does.” —J Norman Collie (scientist)
If you are vintaged, with a boy toy draped on your arm, I say Bless you for your optimism and stamina. For the remaining majority who are sharing their lives with another, put your glasses on and take hard, long look at your partner. Did you ever expect to share your autumn years with an old person? Damn scary, isn’t it?!! The once distinguished older gent ages into a balding, grumpy, mumbling old man with a flatulence forte, wild hair growing from places it shouldn’t. And those windshield wiper eyebrows like insect antenna, defy explanation. Hmm well, Werewolf comes to mind. The blinding glare from the inevitable tonsure is the coups de gras. Mumbling? Well friends, men mumble because they want expert advice which, of course, is their own. How often have they ever asked your advice about anything that wasn’t food-related? When venturing out together, do you surreptitiously examine your partner’s clothing for bits and pieces of a meal? The evidence is rewarding, isn’t it? Check yourself as well. I remember swearing that I was never, ever, going to be an old lady with dribble streaks on her clothes, yet more than once I have seen embarrassing smudges on my clothes. Life can be so cruel!
