I was busy lying on the couch the other day, watching Housewives of wherever, when an ad came on for some miracle cream, undoubtedly lovingly crafted from the spleen of a unicorn and the left hoof of a centaur (a unitaur if you will …. mind wandering already – Danger Will Robinson). Anyway, said advertisement assured me (and who am I to question the T.V.) that it would help fight the 7 signs of ageing. That got me thinking, I’m no aesthetician but surely to have to achieve that claim, this miraculous potion would need to:
- Do my laundry
- Address the issue of my husband badgering me about my growing dependence on reality TV
- Write my term planning and unit plans and while you’re at it, might as well do the weekly ones too
- Stop the local, vicious demon-rooster from waking me at 4:30 am – every bloody day. Addendum: Sadly, between the writing of this column and me sending it to the (very patient and flexible) editor, “Rocky the Rooster” (so named by me) has passed away. Rocky, may you finally learn to crow properly (can a rooster have emphysema?) and have a never ending hen-house full of friends. RIP Rocky – “cock-a-doodle-don’t” (might be too soon).
- Keep me linked up to a caffeine drip between the hours of 7 am and 7 pm
- Gently cradle me to sleep at night and stop my brain deciding to replay every conversation that I have ever had, after waking up with a start at 2 am from yet another Wes Craven directed nightmare (why is Alec Baldwin in so many of my bad dreams?)
- Stop my dogs tag-team vomiting through my house (may have contained rooster feathers, but I shall say no more)
I’m sure that there are far more tell-tale accurate signs of ageing than uneven skin tone and visible pores, at least there are for me. The following is part one of The Seven Signs of Ageing – By Kellie (fully unqualified in anything other than ranking orange corn snacks in order of tastiness and basic hedgehog husbandry).
In no particular order:
Am I hot or am I cold – This is a game that I have been playing a lot of late, it is the companion to constantly asking my husband, “Do you think I will need a jacket?” I am unsure of when I stopped being able to regulate my own temperature? I feel like I’m becoming more reptilian as I age. The idea of sitting on a rock in a terrarium under a heat lamp, not moving as someone feeds me protein snacks actually sounds great. I have no median temperature. I am either freezing cold with blue extremities or cooking from the inside out, like a microwave pizza (they have a bad rap, if you use the proper microwave bag they are almost crisp. Yes, that might be a stretch, they’re edible – if you are ok eating cheap cheese on cardboard, which I am totally here for). I will go from one extreme to another on the turn of a dime, it makes dressing interesting. I basically wear a singlet under a snow suit.
Pets as children – I have always loved my pets, but lately something’s changed. We always have had large dogs, but we recently got a new rescue dog. She is about 7 months old and almost fully grown but really quite little and I have done something that I never thought I would. It started with a little red puffer anorak, just to keep her warm; I’m ashamed to say that I just bought her some pyjamas (pink with love hearts). I am currently taking time out of my, “finding Poppy the perfect Halloween costume” online browsing agenda, to write this. I have become one of those people. I dress her, wrap her in a knitted blanket and carry her like a baby. I am on the precipice of putting her in a stroller – please pray for me.
Injuries that should never happen – I put my neck out the other day. Oh no Kellie! Were you heavy lifting? At the gym (snort laugh)? Playing golf? No, no I wasn’t really performing any activity at all. I simply turned to my left to pick up my reading glasses. I also hurt my knee recently …. getting out of bed (one of the 147 times a night to go to the loo – a sign all of its own, see next column). My elbow has been really bugging me since I signed a document too aggressively (I sh*t you not) and my shoulder keeps popping because I carried a grocery bag in from the car. I feel like all of my body parts came from a $2 shop – and not a good one that sells things for $7.95.
Well, here endeth part one of my 7 signs of ageing series. Be sure to tune in next time, when we discuss my bladder, getting triggered by little things that shouldn’t bother me (if my husband puts the knife in that screechy sharpener thingy within my ear shot again, he’s in the wood chipper) and other little gems that litter my personal path to getting older. I say embrace the change, no matter how different it feels. Stuff blotchy skin and age spots, this is Rock and Roll!