It Beats the Alternative

Another birthday.

I'm starting to feel my age. This is sort of a change for me since my actual age, appearance, and behavior generally have not been congruent. At 12 or 13 I could pass for older since, thanks to my elder siblings, I had an old-for-my years mind-set and tastes. I was a Frank Zappa fan in 6th grade for pity's sake!!

By college the young-for-my-age look started to kick in. I once got my hair cut very short and when my boyfriend at the time bought us movie tickets the seller didn't ask, just charged him for one adult, one child. I had to be mistaken for being under 12! And I couldn't venture into an adult establishment without identification.

I think I began to catch up to myself in my mid-thirties. Now I don't remember the last time I got carded. One of the first times I ventured from my home with my new young ward, Brandon, I was asked A COUPLE OF TIMES if he were my grandson. I mean, sure, it's biologically possible, but still.

I'm turning 44. I mean, it's not like it's a milestone year or anything. But 30 and 40 didn't bother me. I think this is bothering me because I FEEL 44 years old. I'm prone to aches and pains, especially after unexpected exertion. I own a minivan.

What's really been stinging me lately is that (in my perception, at least) age has been catching up with my appearance. Mind you, I like to think that I'm not vain nor overly concerned with my appearance. I don't wear make-up or style my hair, and I certainly can't be accused of having a sense of style. Or if I did, it would be the Frumpy Thrift look. Oversized is my size.

The problem is that I could be that way since I was blessed with naturally decent looks. Not drop dead gorgeous, but I didn't have to work hard to cover flaws. I'd like to think I was the girl about whom people said "She's so pretty, if only she'd...(wear some make-up, dress better, etc.). I could turn it on if I wanted to. I like to think I could turn some heads. Couple that with my rapier wit and my sparkling personality and look out!

I'm not so sure that's the case anymore. Time is not gentle, although, again, genetics have been kind. I'm not to prone wrinkles and lines although I don't think all those sunburns as a kid did me any favors. My hair is enough of a dirty blonde that I can call my gray my "highlights." And gravity certainly pulls things southwards.

To quote Lou Berryman in "Classified Rag" -- "I'm a gal, 44, doesn't have it anymore..." The actual lyric says 34, but that's in my rear-view mirror. I feel like I've lost It. I'm feeling past my prime.

On the up side I'm married to someone who will forever find me beautiful, for which I thank the heavens. So it really shouldn't bother me, right? But it does. Beauty is a sort of power. Without it I find I'm fading further into the background, and I'm a hog-the-spotlight kind of person.

The recent haircut has helped a lot. (No artificial colors or weird cosmetic procedures for me.) And anytime I'm tempted to bemoan the march of time I just remind myself...it beats the alternative.