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Where did all my Muscle
go?
On Friday I’ll be looking down the barrel of the last year in my
fifties. Ge-od!!! Where did my life go? I am in shock and awe as
I watch my face wrinkle like a Rand McNally’s road map; the skin
on my arms deflate like spent balloons; as I grope for my
heating pad and reading glasses and check the locks on the door
five times in a row because I forgot I just did it. Oh, and
realize, to my horror, that I almost forgot to water my cats.
Forget the flowers.
And where did my buttocks go? Long time passing, as Peter, Paul
and Mary would sing.
Now I know why Grandpa Bill – who used to drive with one foot on
the gas pedal and the other on the brakes – wore suspenders.
Men, literally, have to secure the pants that were once held
firmly in place by their gluteus maximi (is that spelled
right?).
We women don’t need suspenders because the spare tire around our
hips does the job. A man’s belly, however, protrudes over their
pants top and is worthless as a beach ball.
Poor dad, once robust and overweight, shrank while I wasn’t
watching. It blew my mind the first time I saw him in his over
shoulder bum holders.
I was always self-conscious of my widely padded hips. However,
my buns were normal sized. Zip to that now. I was rather
admiring my new slender form (scared skinny by my G.P who told
me to lose some weight and get my triglycerides down – add to
that the lbs. I lost after my car accident) when I turned
sideways and shouted to the mirror, “I’ve been robbed!”
I no longer had a butt. What was once convex is now concave. I
can squeeze my muscles and get it back, but walking around that
way all day seems masochistic.
I’ll sign off for now because I could go on yada, yada, yada and
I must leave some kvetching over for other columns . . .
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