Sorry Oprah, Fifty Is NOT The New Forty!
Every weekend I have a marathon phone conversation with a dear friend on the West Coast. I consider her part of my family and we often confide, gripe, seek out solace and advice from one another. These conversations usually entail topics on art, jewelry design, creativity, family, our dire need for money, health and often times digress into locker room humor.
During our recent conversation we both agreed that fifty is not the new forty no matter what Oprah says. We also decided, since we are both fifty-something, that whenever we hear someone make that ridiculous statement, that we would be entitled to take a rolled up newspaper and unceremoniously whack the individual spouting this propaganda on the back of the head! Of course this would be done without any remorse and we would run like hell after we committed this deed. If caught, which would be likely, we would plead insanity or in my case…menopausal rage.
Our fifty-something bodies are doing things now that our forty-year old bodies never did and it’s not pretty! We both agreed that age is just a number and that mentally we are still somewhere in our late thirties and our humor which has always been wicked is still intact. But we also agreed vehemently that our bodies have betrayed us.
Neither of us have the finances that would allow us the luxury to join gyms, yoga classes, palates, have a personal trainer, seek out dermatologists, plastic surgeons, a masseuse that would knead our bodies like precious Kobi beef. We are ladies who have to live the daily grind on a crappy income even before the economy fell into its current dark abyss. I’m not saying that we don’t pursue a healthy lifestyle. We both walk daily, in my case shuffle since a back injury and try to eat a healthy diet (she of course is better at this than I…damn my sweet tooth) and imbibe in all kinds of supplements. But even following this kind of regime the march of time has still reared its ugly head.
We embarked on this topic of our bodies encroaching decrepitude because of a previous conversation regarding wrinkles. Specifically the ones that are showing on our faces. She had mentioned that she is noticing wrinkles above her upper lip, I of course am thinned-lip so no wrinkles there just this oddly unsymmetrical smile which has become more crooked with age. Now I am not one to spend an inordinate amount of time gazing upon my visage in the mirror, but after this conversation it caused me to take stock and was I shocked at what I saw.
I use products, mostly those purchased in the drugstore. I stay out of the sun (cursed with Celtic fair skin) and of course have been best friends with Lady Clairol since my early twenties (I have been going gray since I was a teenager). I put on the war paint when leaving the house and going to the office and wear sunglasses even when it’s overcast outside. But there they were…those cursed wrinkles. They are at the corner of my eyes, under my eyes, on the sides of my nose and mouth and horror of horror when did my neck become like crepe paper!
Of course now I’m having a bit of an emotional moment and strip down to my birthday suit. That in itself was worse than the night terrors I had the other night after reading a Stephen King collection of short stories! When did this happen.
I discussed these horrific finds with my BFF on our recent call and as we went through the list of carnage that has occurred to our bodies with age, this of course turns into hysterical laughter and eventually twisted potty-humor which leaves us both gasping for air and trying not to wet our pants, but in the end we both concurred… Oprah is wrong, fifty is not the new forty.
