According to ad writers we women are supposed to grow old gracefully. In other words, buy into the hype that we need all these products to lessen wrinkles and replenish collagen to make us look younger than our years. Today I got three emails from spas announcing botox parties. Why does all this make me think of Michael J. Fox's remarks to his aunt in "Secret to My Success"?
Personally I like my wrinkles and scars. Thing is, I prefer getting credit for years lived over having to explain to people I know what I'm talking about, I lived through it.
I do have thoughts about aging. First, I plan on living a minimum of 116 years, 1 week and 1 day. Calender-wise the date will be July 5, 2076; the day after the Tricentennial of the United States. It's all about the fireworks baby. I'm fairly sure I can make it provided I can manage to stay away from doctors. Lately I've been rather worried about America making it.
When I was in high school I got a part time job in a nursing home. To this day I'm undecided on which is the worse fate: body giving out and mind staying sharp or body reasonably healthy and mind gone. I talk to myself, animals and inanimate objects enough as it is, I doubt anyone will notice when my mind goes. Yet the experience of watching those in the latter stages of life made an impact. If I have a say in this I know exactly how I'll behave.
The plan when I left Oregon was for me to spend six months dinging around the east coast before settling down in Clark County, Nevada. The Good Twin is to join me. Despite the time schedule going out the window this is still the plan. Say a prayer for Clark County, the cities of Las Vegas and Henderson.
I announced to my twin yesterday I plan on buying a scooter, brilliant lime green or neon orange, with a cart to pull behind it for dog and groceries. I shall let my hair grow into a silver braid down my back. Then when I'm spotted putt-putting down Las Vegas Blvd. South locals will comment "Debi must have plans. She's wearing shorts and tanktop instead of a housecoat." Other times I might be sporting raccoon head slippers and a little black dress. Tomorrow might be an earthmother caftan or flashback to Cyndi Lauper in the 80's. Regardless of age, girls just want to have fun. It's not having fun that ages us.
We all have to grow old, or so I'm told. Personally I find this to be a lie right up there with all the crap the cosmetic and pharmacuetical companies want us to believe so we'll buy their products. There is nothing that you can ingest or inject or slather on your skin that will make you a beautiful person. Assuredly there are plenty of things that will make you appear old like a crotchedy attitude or persistant whining. Stop for a minute and think of how many people you know who are younger than you that seem old. What has aged them?
I want people to remember me favorably for how I treated them. At the end of the day did anyone really notice if I waxed my moustache or plucked chin hairs? The dog doesn't care that I'm wearing a nightshirt and pair of shorts when I take her out to potty. Funny how the neighbors comment on my tan and dismiss whether or not I've shaved my legs. I like that people are comfortable enough to strike up a conversation with me. The writer in me is thrilled with all the juicy tidbits gleaned from impromptu meetings.
Sorry cosmetic companies; the best anti-aging formula is kindness, courtesy and a non-judgmental attitude.