the truth about growing old

Growing old is wonderful. Uncheck. It’s euphoric. Leave blank. It’s a gradual exchange of beauty {and all working bodily functions} for wisdom. Check.

With age comes a new depth of understanding and acceptance. Like knowing that knee high socks and mini dresses are a no-go, and that wearing mohair is right, and polyester is wrong. And that swigging vodka from the bottle while sitting on the shoulders of your soon to be uncle is just downright idiotic.

The first time I seriously contemplated age was last night. To the over 50s my age is ‘young’, to the under 20s my age is ‘old’. To me it’s 35 and climbing bloody fast towards 40. Thirty five years of stuff. Good, bad, sad, happy, not much different to you I’m sure. Or maybe not. Married, divorced, kids. But last night I realised my time was ticking, faster than I had contemplated. One minute you’re 19 with oodles of time to waste. The next you’re studying pension plans.

A couple of years ago I went for a hearing test, only because I had to ask people around me to repeat themselves more often than seemed the norm. Results showed I had the hearing of a 60 year old. Bu t last night I think my hearing had since digressed to that of a 90 year old. I was at an event for a children’s charity – I will write about it soon – and I was clearing some glasses away. One of the children spoke to me, it sounded like he said ‘Do you know God? I asked him to repeat. In fact I asked him to repeat himself about three times. Each time I heard the same thing. I then answered and said ‘I’m not sure, do you know God?’ The kid threw a blank look. A woman nearby, I presume his mother, leaned forward and said ‘He said that Sahara is gone’. Sahara was the youngster sorting the glasses for cleaning. I bared my teeth in a wide smile, made a silly sound, and scuttled away. How could I mishear that?

So, do I know God? Or is there some subconscious acknowledgement that I am edging closer to his waiting room? One thing is certain, I don’t mind getting old. I’m not even petrified of death anymore. I’m just having a little bit of a hard time getting to grips with saying goodbye to certain youthful things. I mean come on, age doesn’t really give you a chance to bid farewell to some of the good stuff. It just flies by.

So here are my personal pros and cons of aging as I know it:

The cons:
* Walking past a building site no longer induces a chorus of wolf whistles; in fact it barely heralds a glance
* The side effect of staying awake past midnight is irritability the following day
* Excitement is counteracted by a sense of balance and moderation
* Yawns are no longer disguised in meetings as a display of inspiration
* Morals surreptitiously replace spontaneity and impulse
* Your breasts are as firm as sad marshmallows heated over a happy bonfire

The pros:
* Olives suddenly taste pretty good and asparagus looks more attractive
* Listening to a piece of Mozart, Bach or Tchaikovsky makes absolute sense (yeah at a high volume)
* Eating overripe bananas is not that bad
* Doing things properly first time takes precedence
* Judgement of people is more attuned, although judgement is withheld for a bit longer
* You realise why it’s important to visit the dentist more regularly
* A warm bubbly bath is just as good as a how a night out on the town used to be
* Full panties are much more comfier than thongs, who cares if the lines show?

So there it is. The list grows each day, but it doesn’t overshadow the diamonds in my life. And for those I don’t need a list. Growing old is an experience, a new discovery. I’m loving it, honestly!

Well my friends, as I book my next hearing test, what are your thoughts about growing old?