Took the weekend off. Did no work at all. Acted like a 12-year-old in that I pretty much just listened to my i-Pod, wrote in my diary and gave my feet the critical eye.
I also broke precedent and looked in the mirror for a full seven minutes, which made me stand appalled by what has become of me. I have wrinkles galore, a furrow deep enough to plant carrots in and this new weird thing where my spine snakes over to the left, then doubles back on itself and snakes over to the right. Most people don’t notice it until I mention it but then they see it all right. When I pointed it out to my friend Ahmad he said in his mild way, “Oh yeah! Your pants are here and your shirt is over here!”
Also I’m getting these dark things on my face, like Morgan Freeman has. They’re like pigmented freckles only I’ve never had freckles.
Plus my eyes, which were always too close together, seem now to be heading for opposite corners of the room.
My teeth look like kernels on the corncob you split open and then toss back in the bin. (WHY WASN’T I MADE TO WEAR BRACES EVER?)
Also my bangs are too short – they make me look like Imogene Coca if anyone remembers her.
And my eyebrows are disappearing.
I was examining the Nike Swoosh of my spine when my man sauntered into the bathroom. I had this flannel shirt on that I found in our son’s high school bedroom.
“It’s a men’s small but it’s not quite makin’ it in the buttoning shut department.
“Get a breast reduction,” he quipped.
He was kidding of course. The real problem was about a foot further down, but maybe I should anyway. I mean, it’s too late for braces, right?
Maybe I can enter these years like a sort of sprightly un-busty Mary Lou Retton. Hey, it would take my mind off the rest of me. What does a thing like that cost anyway? And why go around looking like this sadsack..
… When I could go around looking like this:
Well. Such are the thoughts of a person with WAY too much time on her hands. Bring on the workweek!