So it is officially on me. The fact that I am a big fat liar, and that the header on this blog needs desperately to be changed immediately to thirtysevenandcounting if I am an honest child and worthy of my mother’s trust and the values of honesty and fair play she inculcated in me, etc, etc.
Given that my first immediate fight or flee reaction to hitting 37 is to run to the registrars office and make fake birth certificates which lower me down ten years, I guess nothing the mother ever taught me has sunk in.
Why is it that 37 suddenly make me feel I need to take a scotchtape and put it along the hairline to pull the falling face up? 36 didnt feel all that bad, given that a lot of falling happened with the body, and most of it falling that no amount of wishful thinking or visits to plastic surgeons and such like could have put back in place.
It is a fear that an increasingly youth centric society is foisting on me, the fear that I am getting long in the teeth and curved in the spine. That the face is getting character lines which show more character than I would like it too. That the cobwebs beneath the eyes have become nice and latticed and crinkly. And no amount of soft patting on of undereye cream is doing anything to salvage the situation, except keep me from snoring five minutes more. Also the fact that any cream I buy has to, by virtue of necessity, have to say ANTI AGEING in big capital letters somewhere on the label. Which also means I end up not buying a lot of hair products because none of them have anything going for ageing hair. Come on, there is a niche market out there for us ageing hair types. I can just see the ads, bouncing, glowing youthful hair type walks past leching model type who taps said bouncing hair on shoulder. Bouncing hair turns around, and lech model type male gasps open mouthed, “Dadima??” and falls dramatically to the pavement, clutching left side of chest tom imply immediate coronary due to the shock caused by the realisation that he had been hitting on his grandmom. Of course, a life insurance and a low fat oil could also split costs of production and airtime on this commercial. Now there’s another thought, a couple of products join hands to have a lovely narrative that interests the viewers and bungs in two to three brands so we dont have to suffer onslaught on onslaught of mindless drivel ads that get repeated ad infinitum ad nauseum. Ah, I digress again.
To return to the point. I am now doing a rehaul of the role models in the mind’s cavern. Demi Moore? Sharon Stone? Monica Belluci? Madonna?
Yup, yup, throw in an Ashton Kutcher, and I’m game to be over 40. Never mind the latticed eyes.