I Hate Getting Old

I don’t like getting old.

THERE! I’ve said it.

I am NOT aging gracefully. I am aging ironically.

Each decade hits like a new mixed tape of songs you know you're going to hate but you'll keep singing randomly for the next ten years.

My hormones have become little Italian mobsters, showing up uninvited whenever, wherever, making threats to the neighbor in our elevator like: "If you don't get off this elevator in the next 2.5 seconds, you ain't never getting off this elevator." I've tried telling them that an Italian mobster made me do it. That just makes it weirder. Also, the irrational thoughts come with spirals and mood swings where at least two to three times a month, I just start sobbing over random shit like an Old Spice commercial. No, Old Spice Guy, my man CANNOT swim through a tank of hungry sharks without getting his tuxedo wet - now my life is ruined and I’m just going to sit here and sob. Cut to twenty minutes later, when I’m in full spiral and realize that my man doesn’t even own a tuxedo, and I start all over again, because what kind of person DOESN’T OWN A TUXEDO?

Wrinkles! Eyelid wrinkles are the absolute worst, but they’re all pretty horrendous if you ask me. I can no longer draw a neat winged eyeliner look without my eyeliner accidentally falling off the Grand Canyon and taking a small trip to Mexico. Now I need to employ a small team of embalmers to rock an even mildly convincing no-make-up look.

I can’t read the giant digital clock on my stove from across the room. This is a life-or-death skill that I simply cannot live without.

I used to be able to hear the neighbor’s alarm clock from across the street. Now, I can sleep through my alarm clock right beside my head. But! Construction three blocks away will wake me up at 6 am and I’m also wide awake at 3 am because someone may be trying to break into the house to murder us. Have you seen Only Murders In The Building?

Also I now watch Only Murders In The Building. Say a single bad thing about Steve Martin or Martin Short and I will ruin you (probably by listing every.single.movie they’ve ever been in as proof of how talented they are).

I miss good music. You know, like Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls, En Vogue!

I do not know what ‘riz’ means but I use it incorrectly on purpose all the time, while also rocking a heavy sarcastic tone paired with the one raised eyebrow smirk.

A bump, ANY bump, is cancer. Indigestion (also a new thing!) is almost certainly a heart attack, and if I forget where I put something, full melt down because now I have Alzheimer’s for suuuure. And though my doctor says I'm fine, I'm fairly certain that I'm at risk for diabetes, high cholesterol, high blood pressure and dementia. Also, I Google everything he says, because he's just too young to be practicing medicine.

I have legitimately heard the words, “Young people these days,” leave my lips. Actually, I think I’m okay with this one. The new generation is ruining everything. Everything is their fault. Everything.

I go to the grocery with pre-purchased (and quite fashionable, if I may say so) cloth grocery bags, because, the environment y’all!

Someone stood up on the train so I could get a seat. I took the seat.

No one asks for my ID at the liquor store. For New Year’s, I asked the cashier to just glance at it so I could start the year off feeling a bit better about myself.

And tomorrow I’m meeting a friend for coffee. Not wine! Because that just makes me sleepy. Nope, we’re having coffee at 9 am (that’s right, you animal - in the morning). We made a reservation, because the cafe is very nice, and quite popular, and we wanted to ensure that we had a good spot by the windows. We checked the menu out online.

Anyway folks, it’s 9:30 pm and way past my bedtime. I’m going to brush my teeth (which I do still have) with my orthodontist-approved electric toothbrush (I trust my ortho because she's in her 50s and obviously knows her stuff - they don't make um' like her anymore), have a good cathartic cry (because who doesn’t own a tuxedo?!), drink a glass of water which I will then need to rid myself of two hours later, and try to tune out my husband's snoring before giving up and kicking him out of bed to sleep in the guest room.

Riz out! 🤨