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Ok, I know I'm 49 and over the past three years have lost most of the body parts that play a major role in regulating things like body temperature but, FERCRYINGOUTLOUD. I had a hot flash (power surge, personal summer, whatever you want to call them) today that lasted five and a half freakin' hours. I didn't know it was possible to walk around all day with chill bumps up and down your arms, your face fire-engine red, sweat beading on your upper lip and running down the back of your neck, freezing and burning all at the same time, looking like a bad SNL skit. I've had the fan sitting in the middle of my desk, blowing in my face, both office doors open, the door to outside open and I'm dying in there. People are walking by asking, "Are you okay?" "Don't have the piggy flu, do ya?" and I'm smiling and going "No, I'm fine. Just a little warm in here." Warm, blah, I was bathing in the steamy waters of hell. Was I all right? Geesh. Did I look all right?
I have tried to convince myself that being female is a wonderful thing. And fifty is the new forty, right? But, seriously, getting older is just a ridiculous experience. Your body turns into the mythical Trickster, breaking the rules of the gods and nature. Foolish, but funny. Full of surprises. Ever bent over to pick up your shoes and unexpectedly propelled yourself out the bedroom door with the gaseous explosion that occurred? That's funny. I don't care who you are. And no twenty year old can produce that sort of nuclear effect. Hell, if you could harness all the bodily emanations of the over forty crowd, you could light up the Earth.
At least I can date someone half my age and not break any laws even though my back goes out more than I do. And speed limits no longer present a challenge so my insurance rates are lower. Not to mention, I recently discovered that geriatric erotica is alive and well and on the web so now I actually have something to look forward to. Sex after sixty. Whooo-hoooo!
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TwistedSister