I still love it when people hear how old I am and do a double-take. (Even an occasional jaw-drop: those give me a warm glow inside. I'm as weird as a whistling fish, is why.) I'm turning 65, but I have two people sexually interested in me (one of each gender), I don't have spots or sags or pouches, or veins (well, not too many), and I don't have many wrinkles beyond a few laugh lines. My teeth aren't perfect, but they're staying with me. (My poor stillsortaspouse Macy just had lots of tooth extraction done, and she's 57. And I'm not gloating; we're still buds, and I feel pretty bad for her right now. She's hurting.)
Macy was among the first people to actually respond with an astonished look and a “No way.” Probable cause right there for me to marry her. (Actually it was more like Reason #137, right after “Still laughs at my jokes after a month.”) But I get reactions along those lines from other people too. In all types of lighting, even.
I will freely admit: for a kid who had a long ugly duckling phase, I am digging the beautiful swan time of my life. I mean, hey, I'm not Scarlett Johansson or Kate Hudson -- I'm more of a perfect blend of the two. (Just kidding.)
I'm serious, though, until my early twenties, I was dealing with weight, raging acne, and a miserable social scene deepening my undiagnosed depression. I grew to hate my face, my stupid-sounding voice, the over-correct diction that had gotten me into trouble all my life, my stringy hair, the scraggly beard I had started at age 16 (the first of five), the way I dressed, the fact that I still pretended to be a misunderstood genius when clearly I was a fucking idiot …
And way down, unsuccessfully buried under all of that, was a growing certainty that I was really a female.
(I won't get too deeply into the transgender thing this newsletter; I just felt I should put it out there, as People's Exhibit Whichever, I suppose.)
Gradually, after I got rid of my beard and looked after myself a bit better, I began to look somewhat more attractive. Probably in my late thirties I began to notice I was staying pretty smooth of face and neck and -- elsewhere -- and the gray hairs were few and easily plucked. I was actually looking better as I got older. (How shockingly un-American!)
The hell of it is, it doesn't get easier to find a job as you get older. Quite the opposite. Even now, with employers desperate for warm bodies, there seems to be, shall we say, an unspoken reluctance to give seniors work that involves something more than wearing a greeter vest and standing in a drafty entranceway, smiling and welcoming the surly multitudes all day.
I have a whole grab-bag assortment of skills, but I'm not sure much of it is still marketable. (And I've always known that English and electrical drafting are no longer marketable, the way the world works now.)
But, hey, I look younger than I am! And seriously, in this country, that's damn close to a superpower. Looking young, attractive, like a winner … those things continue to count for as much as or more than skills and credentials, time and time again.
Okay, I seem to be digressing a little.
What really concerns me is knowing that it won't last forever. Even Mom, who just turned 91, is finally looking very much her age, and acting it (in a very cranky-old-lady manner). But for decades before that, she stayed young-looking. Dad did very much the same, even though he went bald at twenty-two or so. (Glad I dodged that bullet.) When he passed at 78, he really didn't even look 60. All good things come to an end … but as long as I have this gift, I will remember to be thankful for it.
(Because being truly thankful is also a good way to get gifts.)
I May Not Look My Age, But ...
3 Interested......lol If I got to know you better and we enjoyed each others company out of the bedroom, I'm sure we would enjoy in the bedroom :o