ON BEING 70

Age 70, the threshold of death decade, brings the joys of snaggled and yellowing dentition, thinning hair, worn-out joints, and last (but not least) mental acuity strapped to a time bomb.  Tick-toc, tick-toc, bam! - where did I put that darn (you fill in the blank).  I am putting off the day when I greet Husband by saying, "Hello there, do I know you?; and we won't be role playing in the bedroom!

Me Practicing Being 70

How Can We Improve This Condition?

Husband is devious about his own disintegration, preferring to claim his life-long prettiness is constant and unchanging.  In his own mind, he was present at the Creation, if you get my drift.  He did however put his shoes on the wrong feet (slipped them on in the dark) and walk boldly into a restaurant;  and nearly ran over himself with his pickup (forgot to take it out of gear).  

Husband  Hard at Work

I believe we are one age eternally, and we get to choose that age.  Realizing this is a strange belief, I am determined to cover all the mirrors in my kingdom with black cloth and be "16" until this show ends.  Any other scenario involving honesty and acceptance is a downhill hot-coal slalom into Hell, a rapid oxidation of ego.  

While I delude myself, I relentlessly deny all signs of aging.  I hitch my plow to the imagination of Lewis Carrol and cultivate the fertile ground of quantum make-believe in Wonderland, along with Alice, all without expensive cosmetic surgery!  Win, win!

Me AKA "The Unknown Blogger"

"Off With Her Head!" Said the Queen of Hearts