With 50 rapidly approaching, I’ve started to think about things like my own mortality and….
I am watching creases suddenly appear on my forehead that irritate the shit outta me. I accepted the crow’s feet around my eyes a long time ago and I’m kinda ok with them because I got them from smiling and I would rather have smiling wrinkles than frowning wrinkles, ya know?
Oh and by the way, just so ya know, they start out as crow’s feet, but right around 46-47 it turned more into a fucking flock of seagulls.
Anyway…I have also accepted that my face is getting a bit jowly and droopy, that my ass does not sit as high up as it used to and has a spread and sag to it. That my taut tummy ain’t so taut anymore, that my thighs are jiggly and that while I never did get dimples on my face, I’ve got plenty on my ass.
I understand that I don’t get checked out or flirted with like I used to and that wearing a bikini now is really ballsy and probably not one of my best choices (but I continue to wear one and torture people with my old shit)
But for some reason those forehead wrinkles irritate the shit outta me.
I tried botox once. I was terrified and let myself get talked into it by someone I used to know and his partner.
Never never never let yourself be evaluated by creative flamboyant gay men, especially if one of them refers to himself as a Queen. You open yourself up to some serious body shaming and critiquing of your looks like ya listened to and barely survived in high school.
They were fucking relentless.
You should try fillers, you should use botox, you should get your boobs done, your roots are showing, you need a haircut, you should be blonder, your ass is too jiggly, that color is all wrong on you and you need to get laid were just some of the fun things those two told me.
Gay men are the shit and will always tell you the truth. If you ask em “Does my ass look big in this?”, they will not say, “Oh, no, not all, it’s just the style”, they will tell you, “Oooh, you really need to start doing squats”.
I have always preferred gay men to women. I was called a fag hag years ago and at first I was offended, because I have never liked the word “fag” unless you are from the UK and talking about a cigarette, but it really made me laugh.
Anyway…I decided to try what I referred to as “pokey shit in my face” one time. I had a frown line in between my eyes and of course my flock of crow’s feet.
I was surprised.
I was terrified that my face would be frozen or that I would not be able to close my eyes or that it would hurt.
It didn’t hurt and nothing bad happened to my face. I still had some wrinkles, but they looked a little bit smoother.
Dangerous shit in a syringe, full of power, like heroin.
I could so easily get hooked on that shit but unfortunately I am a cheap old bitch and there is no way in hell I’m gonna spend a shit load of money for this and then have to do it every coupla months.
I have a hard enough time paying for a mani/pedi.
I do want to remain somewhat fuckable to Mr. Wonderful…ok I’m a vain old bitch and I would like to still be seen as fuckable by others as well.
So I have decided that if I win the lottery I’m gonna buy myself a damned vat of botox. Or better yet, I could just ask for donations from friends and family.
I can see how the phone call begging for cash would go:
“Hi Aunt Sue, it’s me, BOCL and I was wondering if you would like to donate to my botox fund and that way you won’t be revolted by having to see my prune face and you would keep me from sliding into depression about getting old and not lookin fuckable?….”hello?”…”Aunt Sue?”
I think this aging thing is scarier for my age group because we are totally inundated daily with beautiful airbrushed women on magazine covers and in movies and TV. The old grandma ladies we remember looked like shit and we don’t wanna look like they did.
My Grandma wore polyester. A lot of polyester.
She regularly wore plaid pants and flowered shirts and her idea of dressing up was putting on some red lipstick.
Nowadays you have those housewives shows where the women are in the 40’s and 50’s and you have cougars and MILFS and the pressure to look good into your 40’s and 50’s is bigger than ever.
The first time I was called a MILF I had no idea what it was and when the guy who called me it told me what it meant I was shocked…and kinda secretly tickled.
I’m kinda hoping to be a GILF at some point, but I’m not so sure its in my future.
Look, I know that I don’t need to rely on other people to make me feel attractive, but seriously, if I get whistled at now, I have to turn around and make sure the whistle is not for someone behind me.
Shit, there is no such thing as aging gracefully. About the only thing that makes me feel better about it is that everyone else my age is also gonna look pruney with me.
I’m goin to throw out all my red lipstick too, just in case.
Better to be safe than sorry, ya know?