The other day I came to a horrible realization that I, a person who felt young (and even more importantly, felt I looked young), was actually, in fact a person approaching middle age. Well, maybe “approaching” is the wrong word. Oh what the heck, I may as well put it out there. I am middle-aged. And it’s scary. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
First, there’s gravity. One day, you put on a pair of shorts or a swimsuit and you realize that many of your original parts are not in their original places. They are … lower. And not as firm. And very jiggly. And it’s not the ’70s TV show kind of jiggly either. It’s a jiggly that only happens when things fall down and can’t get back up.
If all those jiggly bits aren’t bad enough, there’s gray hair. I swear to you, one day you have fresh highlights and a good push up bra and all’s right with the world. The next day, you wake up looking like a before photo in a Grecian Formula ad. Why does gray hair do that? And how does it do that? And why on earth can’t I cover this stuff up? I have tried and tried and it still comes back.
And it’s not just gray hair that happens overnight. If eyes are the windows to my soul, then my soul is telling me I’m old and I can’t read any fine print. Suddenly, I’m squinting as hard as I can to read the expiration date on my yogurt and it’s still blurry as heck. And I can’t hold it far away either because apparently I have freakishly short Tyrannosaurus Rex arms. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Of course, there was an easy fix for my eye issues. I just adjusted the fonts on all my electronics and ignored any and all expiration dates on yogurt. That completely solved the problem for about 15 minutes, until I had to read the menu at a restaurant. Clearly I had no choice but to wear reading glasses.
I’m telling you, the day I bought my first readers was a horrible day. My parents wear readers. My 95-year old grandmother wears readers. Obviously I am too young for readers. But sadly, there I was in Target, trying on the various strengths and testing them by reading the fine print on the nearby allergy medicines—something I haven’t been able to read since 2010.
Yeah, I might have been avoiding this middle-aged thing.
But I’m not going to feel bad about it. I mean, a week or so ago I went to dinner with friends. And every single one of us needed readers to see the menu. Of course I had forgotten mine. So we played musical readers for a while until everyone selected their dinner.
And that’s when I realized something even more horrifying. Not only am I gray and jiggly and unable to see print smaller than 72 point, I am also forgetting things.
Curse you, middle age.