Getting Old Sux

[Churak]

At 40, it seems being female is a depreciating asset

Jul 02, 2007 04:30 AM
Lorraine Sommerfeld

I read the other day that Pam Anderson turned 40. Of course, there is a very large asterisk under that statement, because only a few parts of her actually turned 40. She said she felt great about it. I think she should. Even without a pit crew stripping me down to my chassis and rebuilding me after every race, I felt pretty good about turning 40, too.

There is nothing from my 20s I would like returned, except perhaps my thighs. If I am so inclined, I can pretty much wrestle everything else back into a reasonably inoffensive state of being. Of course, that inclination hinges on many factors, and it is usually easier to change the factors than drum up the inclination.

I see women that run, jump, spin and twist themselves into a female rendition of a greyhound. I could maybe sustain that for a few days, but like the real greyhounds that chase a fake rabbit around an artificial racetrack, I'm not sure that the prize is worth the punishment. I pride myself on having mental discipline, and physically, I let the chips fall where they may. Of course, the chips fall directly on my hips.

I have long cursed my lousy eyesight; glasses since age 8 signalled the beginning of a long decline into the remarkably blurry world I live in today. For vanity's sake, I can tolerate the discomfort of contact lenses for a few hours a day but apparently, according to my doctor, a woman experiences a change in water content in her body over time. I am drying up. I received this information with no grace whatsoever, and told him I was certain I was, like a camel, storing great reserves of water. In the underside of my upper arms.

The Catch-22 with contacts is that I need them in to put makeup on, but I need them out to get it off. I hop into the shower thinking I look like Elle MacPherson, and emerge looking like Alice Cooper. As I scrub off my favoured brand of false promises, I realize, my nose inches away from the mirror, that I actually look younger without it. Every woman I know does; I either know a lot of fabulous looking women, or we're all really, really stupid.

The sellers of bathing suits, however, make makeup companies look positively noble. I would just like a store clerk who will honestly tell me when something looks less awful than the last one.

I stopped believing when my son Jackson, now 12, asked me when he was 4 why my thighs looked all crumply. The clerk the day before hadn't mentioned "crumply," not even once.

While certainly not a woman to pass the blame, I had no choice that day but to inform the wee lad that it was his fault. I had been a veritable gazelle until he and his brother were born.

The Poor Sod Who Lives With Me is nearsighted, an attribute I prize highly in men. Zero-to-Goddess can take hours and a cast of thousands, or the two seconds it takes to remove his glasses. What's crazy is that when I had all the time and dedication in the world, I needed the least amount of work. Now I'm like some building requiring a "historic" designation to receive all the time and resources required to maintain the façade.

It would be nice to be valued for my cultural significance and acquired wisdom instead of being penalized for becoming a depreciating asset. Wisdom is easy to display; an ageless face less so.

Just ask Pammy.



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Lorraine Sommerfeld appears Mondays in Living and Saturdays in Wheels. Reach her via her website lorraineonline.ca.

http://www.thestar.com/living/article/231452