Aging is a peculiar thing. Just when you begin to grow into your skin, it outgrows you. And the extra has nowhere to go except to hang there all crinkled up like a discarded Twinkie wrapper.
In a research poll for my book, Fear, Faith, and a Fistful of Chocolate, one-fifth of all women surveyed ranked fear of aging among their top three fears. Although this particular fear was most prevalent in the 60+ age category (the #2 greatest fear, in fact), gals from 18 -59 admitted that getting older worries them too.
And rightly so. As we near menopause, the evacuation of estrogen makes our upper faces respond with receding hair on our scalps and eyes, but our lower faces get even by sprouting dapper little Clark Gable mustaches and random six-inch chin hairs.
Those crazy hormones can also increase our appetite for chocolate, which may in turn cause our derriere rumpage to quadruple, making many of us feel that we are defined by our behinds. We find ourselves battling symptoms of CDD (Chocolate Deficit Disorder), which include stashing Tootsie Rolls in potted plants and hiding M&M’s in our ibuprofen bottles.
This newly-minted subterfuge may result is what I call the Obstinate Orca Propagation Site, or OOPS for short. This Coty near-fact of science involves those humpback whales that suddenly grow on the outside of your upper thighs right where they attach to your hips.
One morning you wake up and OOPS, there they are. Beached orcas, refusing to return to the open sea.
My obstinate orcas are named Shamu and Shazam. It’s good to be on a first-name basis with your appendages if you’re going to do life together.
I feed them Ferrero Rocher instead of plankton.
What do you feed yours?
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