They say 50 is the new 30. Really? Then tell that to my body! At 30, I didn’t have to wear a pair of “cheaters” to read the warnings on a medicine bottle or the menu at my favorite Mexican restaurant. This morning as I was putting on my make-up, it really ticked me off that I had to put on my glasses so I could read the labels. I couldn’t tell which eye shadow was Peach Puff or Vanilla Sugar. And if that wasn’t insult enough, I had to use the flip side of my mirror, the side that magnifies, to even apply my eye shadow.
When I was 30, I played soccer five days a week. After a tough game, I still had plenty of energy to go to dinner, and then do a little mattress dancing. Now after just doing a little yard work, the only thing I do on a mattress is snore! My knees have so much gravel in them my doctor calls me Mrs. Flintstone. I had a complete physical the other day. On the plus side, my cholesterol, blood sugar, and blood pressure were perfect. On the downside, he says I need to lose more weight. “More weight?” I asked. “But I’ve already lost 50 pounds. I’m still working on lose more. I walk two hours/day, stay below 1200 calories a day, but the weight just comes off so slow,” I whined.
And you know what he said?
“Getting old will do that. Once you hit menopause, you just don’t lose it as fast.”
Gee thanks, Doc.
There are some benefits to being over 50. I’ve been around the block a few times since I turned 30. So now, I’m a fountain of wisdom. Seriously, just ask me anything and I’ll have an opinion about it. I figure at 50+, I’ve earned the right to speak my mind.
Recently I read some comments written by a couple of other romance writers lamenting the fact that so few publishers print romances where the heronine is a size 18 or over 40. Those writers are looking for some “realism” in their romance. And that’s fine. Each to their own, as they say. But realism is not me, at least not in my romance reading. I want the fantasy. I want to live vicariously through characters that don’t have grandma arms or crow’s feet.