I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about Casey Kasem.
I know, random.
But I sat straight up in bed and thought, what the heck happened to him? Where did he go? Is he dead? He’s not dead and nobody told me, right?
Why this sudden interest in the has-been 80′s Saturday Morning Long Distance Dedication American Top 40 radio guy?
I blame the drugs.
And also, I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic. Which is just a fancy word for old.
Because for the first time in my life, I feel my age.
This has me concerned.
Look. I’m hot. (or I used to be)
And I refuse–REFUSE–to grow old gracefully. Or at all.
But the space between my brain and my body is filled with doubt and turmoil and rumbling and cotton candy.
Mmm. Cotton candy.
I passed by a mirror. I caught a glimpse of who I thought was my mother and I was all, Whoa–that’s weird. When did my mom get here?
But y’all it wasn’t my mom–it was me.
ME.
And all of the sudden I look like a mom. And not one of them Milf kind of moms either. But the regular, unattractive kind who wears Mom jeans and is in desperate need of a facial. And a pair of tweezers. And possibly Botox. No, definitely Botox.
It’s happening.
I’m falling apart.
We all know my uterus is falling out of my vagina. But did you also know I have Tendinitis in both my knees? I have to squint when I want to read something up close. I have bunions on my feet that look just like the bunions on my grandmother’s feet–the very same feet that make me a little queasy when she asks me to rub lotion on them. Now, I have those same feet.
It’s official. I’ve lost it. I’m no longer attractive and I know the transformation into THAT mom is happening because I’m seriously considering buying a pair of Crocs. And you KNOW how I feel about those.
I need to snap out of it. I’m still hot Dammit!
OK, or reasonably attractive (just don’t look too closely at the crow’s feet around my eyes).
What’s happening to me? My wrists are aching–probably arthritis. I just got up to go the bathroom and my hip bone winced. My bladder control is sketchy–I think I need Depends. OH GOD, say it isn’t so…
I can’t be getting old.
I’m too immature.
I like to say the F word and I like teeny bopper music and I can still fit in my high school cheerleading uniform. OK I can’t button it, but still I can put it on and get it up over my hips. Almost. I burp at inappropriate times, I wear clothes from the junior section and I say things like “Like” too much. Just like the young people.
OK, so maybe my body is failing me a little and the creases in my face are getting deeper, but dammit I’ve still got it.
It doesn’t matter at all that most days I have to rub Ben Gay on my lower back. Right?
Right?
{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }
I made the mistake of clicking on 'bunions' right as I was taking a sip of milk. Not sure if I'll ever be able to drink it again.
Misery loves company right, so thanks in advance for the osteoporosis!
Dude, if you're not hot than I'm a troll.
Just sayin.
I'm with Destiny. I may never be able to eat again after clicking on the word bunion. But I guess I'll lose weight, so there's that.
You crack me up. There's no way you'll be one of THOSE moms. I'm one of THOSE moms and we'd never let you in our group. We eat little girls like you for lunch. Ha!
Girl, you are still damn hot! Don't let a few aches & pains make you feel old. I intend to fight aging tooth & nail, personally, no matter what the cost.
Recently a friend told me about a skincare regimine that helped minimize her fine lines, so I have been using it even though it burns. It buuuuuurns! I don't care.
Oh, and what did happen to Casey Kasem?
how have i not found you til now??? have you been hiding from me this entire time???
cheers mylady!
It's like wine, you get better with age.
I realized I was getting old when I started to LIKE the smell of Ben Gay.
It doesn't matter at all! Not at all!
Hey, you listen to hanna montana for the love of america!
I loved Casey Kasem. He was THE MAN!
FUNNY! You are still hot. Dammit.
Oh shut up! I saw a recent picture of you with one of your daughters (I know which one it was, I just don't like naming names, especially minors) before, during, or after a football game. I asked my wife (once again no names) is that "daughter"'s sister?? Point is, you look like you could be your teenage daughter's sister. That sounds a little Arkansas-ish doesn't it. Anyways, you look great.
I agree with Wendy. You look fabulous. No one will know you're missing a few inside parts, eh, who needs em anyhow, all they do is cause us grief each month. I'm sure you can find amazingly cute bunion hiding heels. Somewhere? Although I have that same female issue you're talking about, not as severe yet, and now I'm worried about things falling out and bunions appearing. How old are you again, lol? Really, you look great. But I might need to know what you did about the holy jeans at some point.
I say if we go down, we go down kicking and screaming the whole frickin' way.
If nothing else, we will provide entertainment for everyone around us.
When I turned 49 in January (Yes! 49!?! Me?!?) or 7 squared as I like to look at it, I laughed my ass off because I have the maturity of, like a 12 year old boy. I was totally cool with my age, my looks, my body. Then something awful happened over the past few months…I suddenly look tired and in need of a "quick" face lift.
Personally I think some vindictive troll swapped my mirror with the reverse Dorian Gray model because some middle-aged, south of the border cougar is staring back at me. And I can't get her to leave. Not even tossing the Kettel One Vodka (Come on! That's the good stuff!) out in the back yard will get her to budge from the sofa.
But Shauna, you have a loooooong way to go before you can be considered a Mom-jean wearing, past-her-prime, stogie middle-ager. You still have it going on.
You're funny!
No, you're still smokin' hot… fret not. It's all good! Just promise that if you buy the Crocs, you'll only wear them IN the house, or in a 2 block radius of your house – thems is the rules about hot-moms-in-Crocs. You;ll never be one of "those' moms. And neither will I…
I have seen my reflection in a plate glass window and thought, "Who is that fat person with the bad haircut?"
Nostalgic is just a fancy word for old. LOVE that. Going to go tweet it now. Or is it twitter? Ah, I don't care. Thanks for the laugh.
For what it matters, I think you've got it goin' on.
Oh, yeah. I remember Casey. You're funny.