"Forty is the age of youth; 50 is the youth of old age."
~Victor Hugo~
This morning it struck me...I can tell my age by the products I buy at the drugstore. Neatly arranged on the kitchen counter, where a cannister set would have decoratively perched in my twenties, was a step-down arrangement of Bene-fiber plus calcium, Centrum Silver, and Caltrate 600-D. Now my Sam's Club must-have-supply of Aleve has company.
A trip through the secrets of my bathroom supply closet reveal hair color, microwave lip wax, and 'mature' skin lotion. Retinol, collagen, SPF 30...does it really help or am I gullible?
For romantic inclinations, advertisements of KY tingle or heat promise to deliver youthful passion to midlife romance. I envision middle-aged women casing their local CVS during the daytime to locate Jiffy Lube romance. Later, under the cloak of closing-hour darkness, indiscreetly swiping a purchase of KY tingle or heat. Demise, giving the family something to ponder while sorting through personal effects.
I own a vibrating foot soaker, moist heating pad, and contoured neck pillow. "Jumping" out of bed to a no-pain morning is a distant memory with the beginning interruption of nocturnal bathroom calls.
The twisted irony...I still have one foot in the age of youth, assumed by my still-needed supply of feminine products. Hormone replacement is in my horizon, and then I can be an official Maxine entry-level recruit...Speak my mind without apology, already a natural.
"When I was young I was called a rugged individualist. When I was in my 50s I was considered eccentric. Here I am doing and saying the same things I did then and I'm labeled senile."
~George Burns~
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