Recently I was at a doctor to discuss the results of a big ankle operation I had two years ago. All has been great in the ankle department since then, but the rest of my body is not too thrilled. Painful knees, painful hips, painful back. I asked whether that could be a result of the operation, but the doctor dismissed that straight away with one simple remark: ‘You’re just old’.
As he is always joking, I laughed. But unfortunately, he didn’t laugh with me. I was confused and asked him, ‘that was a joke, right?’
‘No’, he said. ‘You’re 45, these pains are normal. Just be happy that it is sunny, because once the rain and cold return, you’ll be in even more pain’.
I was shocked and offended. I realize I am not 20 anymore but old?
But then I started thinking about it. Fact is that most of my friends who are my age have physical problems related to age. Arthritis, painful joints, stiff backs, painful hips, the list goes on. And there are the most obvious signs too: wrinkled cleavage, sagging skin and the perpetual fight against gravity.
But the absolute worst old-age-phenomena are not public knowledge. They are ‘public secrets’.
Things that people do not talk about until you become part of their group. Only when you can complain about certain new experiences yourself, you go through a kind of ‘rite of passage’. A rite you didn’t know existed until you confide in a friend with said complaint. This friend, this confidante will smile at you knowingly and bring others into the conversation. Nodding their heads at you in understanding. And then the sharing begins.
That’s the rite. Almost invisible and very subtle. And then you’re on the other side. With the people that have the same experience. Those that are in on ‘the secret’.
One of those secrets no one tells you about has to do with hair. Men, most of whom become increasingly handsome with age – f* ‘m for that, by the way – might lose their hair and become bold. But with women, it’s quite the opposite.
All may be fine throughout childhood, adolescence, 20s and 30s. But once you become a part of that middle age group, you’re f*d. Hairs start growing in places where they really oughtn’t be. And in one place in particular: the face. Unless, of course, you want to be known as a bearded lady or have always longed for a moustache.
The annoying thing is that these hairs only become visible for yourself once everyone around you can see them in plain view. It’s the weirdest thing. There is one spot on my chin where once a while, one tiny hair shows up. It’s godawful, so I inspect my chin frequently in order to eradicate said hair as soon as I spot it.
But for some bizarre and may I add, nasty, reason, I can only see it when it has already grown to considerable length. I’m not saying that I could make a cute little bun out of it, especially as it is just one hair, but still. It’s at least half a centimeter long by the time I spot it, so I know that if the lighting was right, all people that I saw in, I don’t know, the last week at least, saw it too, and it sucks!
Now that I am in on that secret, I see and hear it around me as well. One friend has a very visible moustache. She didn’t used to; it’s only been there for the last few years. So, she removes the lip foliage with tweezers. But I have seen her when the hairs were too short to remove, but too present to go by unnoticed. It sucks and I feel for her.
Another friend had three long hairs under her chin that she hated. Somehow, she felt that they were there for a reason. She hoped a certain wisdom would come from them so she chose the fruition of that wisdom over being grossed out by the goatee until she really couldn’t look herself in the mirror anymore and pulled them out. The relief she must have felt when she put the tweezers back down…
I am sure there is a reason that I wasn’t informed of this hairy mess in advance. It would have made me intricately inspect my face every day or have me worried when ‘hair judgement day’ would finally befall upon me. Either of which I consider a waste of time and unhealthy.
So, it is probably for the best not to know all the nasty stuff that all of us will experience at some point in time. But maybe just a clue would be nice. You know, something like a list of products that you need to have in your house.
Or better yet, that every commune, once women hit 40, sends a complete ‘aging kit’ in a pretty, little box to the house of the unsuspecting poor woman. There will be a big label on it, saying: Only open in case of esthetic emergency.
The box will at least include a high-quality tweezers, reading glasses of different strengths, insoles, lubricating gel and sports tape. There should probably be more stuff inside the box, but I am sure that there are plenty fun secrets yet to be discovered.
So, when esthetic Armageddon hits, it can be undone immediately, with the help of the kit and without having to be seen in public. How brilliant is that?
