Aging is a peculiar thing. Just when you begin to grow into
your skin, it outgrows you. And the extra has nowhere to go except to hang
there all crinkled up like a discarded Twinkie wrapper.
In a research poll for my book, Fear, Faith, and a Fistful of
Chocolate, one-fifth of all
women surveyed ranked fear of aging among their top three fears. Although this
particular fear was most prevalent in the 60+ age category (the #2 greatest
fear, in fact), gals from 18 -59 admitted that getting older worries them too.
And rightly so. As we near menopause, the evacuation of
estrogen makes our upper faces respond with receding hair on our scalps and
eyes, but our lower faces get even by sprouting dapper little Clark Gable
mustaches and random six-inch chin hairs.
Those crazy hormones can also increase our appetite for
chocolate, which may in turn cause our derriere rumpage to quadruple, making
many of us feel that we are defined by our behinds. We find ourselves battling
symptoms of CDD (Chocolate Deficit Disorder), which include stashing Tootsie
Rolls in potted plants and hiding M&M’s in our ibuprofen bottles.
This newly-minted subterfuge may result is what I call the
Obstinate Orca Propagation Site, or OOPS for short. This Coty near-fact of
science involves those humpback whales that suddenly grow on the outside of
your upper thighs right where they attach to your hips.
One morning you wake up
and OOPS, there they are. Beached orcas, refusing to return to the open sea.
My obstinate orcas are named Shamu and Shazam. It’s good to
be on a first-name basis with your appendages if you’re going to do life
together.
I feed them Ferrero Rocher instead of plankton.
What do you feed yours?
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