My jowls just met my chin in the tragic landslide of my face. The swarm of catfish whiskers living around my mouth were, sadly, unharmed. But, my ego took a direct hit and recovery is expected to be slow.
One minute you're 28 pretending to be worried about getting old and falling apart, the next minute you're 38 with the inability to hold your pee, an aching hip, and trying to figure out at what angle you should hold your head so that your face slides toward your ears, creating the illusion that it's as smooth as nubile pre-teen. What the f***? Where did the last ten years go? Where did my jawline go?
Don't get me wrong- I accept that I'm getting older and therefore am slowly decomposing. I'm just surprised that it's actually happening to me! Now! I feel like myself inside (well, in my mind), but on the outside I'm turning into the portrait of Dorian Grey. Though we all begin dying the moment we're born (happy thought) when does that death process start showing up on your face? I don't know when my cadaver lines appeared, but I noticed in the year of 38. Damn you 38!
I'm sure the tell tell signs of age were there already, but I'd been able to ignore them. Until. Until I caught sight of myself first thing in the morning as I staggered across my bedroom looking like an old whore after a night on the peir welcoming the Navy to port. And how humbling is it to roll out of bed in the morning to discover it takes a few steps to work out the kink in your hip? Suddenly, I'm hop-along-cassidy in the mornings? Don't even get me started on my creeky knees.
Oh, well. What are you gonna do? I'm just gonna go with it. As my brows start to droop I'll be glad I need less eyeshadow. When my hip gives out I'll take time to enjoy my physical therapy. And when I sneeze out a pint of pee I'll rejoice that I remembered to wear my pee pad.
That's right, decomposition sucks, but on the bright side, rigor mortis has just barely started to set in.
Merry Christmas, ya'll.