Friday, November 22, 2013

Shake Rattle and Roll to 50



Several months ago, I got serious about Rocking 50.  I even posted quite a bit about my plans to do so.  As it is turning out, it looks as though I'll be doing more shaking, rattling and rolling, than rocking, into my 5th decade.

Confession.  It's been bugging me more than I thought it would.  NOT turning 50, but all of the changes in my body that, no matter what I do, I can't turn back the clock on. And, the fact that, all of my "tried and true" tricks, the ones that worked like a charm when I was in my 30s and even my mid 40s, well, let's just say this old dog needs some new ones.

A week ago, Mr. B and I went to a formal wear (tuxes and gowns) place to get him a new tux.  Since they had gowns, I figured I'd try a few on while he was getting measured for his tux.  Loaded down with an armful of lovely frocks, I went into the dressing room and proceeded to have an extremely depressing time of it trying on dress after dress that either looked totally ridiculous, or made me look like a sausage or an aging mermaid with a pot belly.  Truly, I was in mourning for my rockin' abs of my late 30s/early 40s.  When did they leave?  How come I cannot seem to get them back?  

Enter Mr. B to help me with some of the more difficult dress contraptions.  Let me tell you.  This did not help matters as he wrested zippers while I stood there saying "Why won't it go up"?  "Well, you're too broad in the back". WHAT?  Talk about a not very funny scene reminiscent of an I Love Lucy show.  He tried to save the moment by explaining it was due to all of my working out at the gym; it was muscle, not back fat.  Well, thank you, universe.  And, oh by the way, said universe, while gleefully spreading the areas between tummy and knee, has woefully neglected to expand my chest area.  Which means the dresses that look good waist down sag quite unbecomingly in the top.  Finally, the clerk took pity on us and brought in a lovely plum colored gown that fit well and wasn't too expensive, either.  I should have bypassed all the torture and just asked her to pick something out in the first place.  I still haven't worked up the courage to look a the tag to see what size the dress is.

Yesterday, for whatever insane reason, I decided to try on my other evening gowns to make sure they fit.  Actually, it was a good thing to do because one of them didn't really look that great any more and if I'd taken it on board the ship with the expectation that I would be wearing, it, well, we may have dined en suite that night!  The other one will do, but I'll probably have to resort to wearing control top pantyhose to give me a tighter silhouette.  This realization left me in a somewhat foul mood.

Last night, we went out to a networking/social gathering; lots of folks Mr. B knows through our business.  I've met a lot of them before, at other events.  One young lady, probably about 25 (if that), was parading around in skin tight jeans, probably size 0, with a little middy top and high heels; long hair trailing down her back in a way that only girls of that age can manage to carry off well.  Touching my recently bobbed hair and thinking that my own jeans were feeling a bit on the tight side, I tried to not let it bug me.  I mean, why SHOULD it bug me?  I was 25 once and had some great times prancing around looking like that.  If I stopped and thought about it, that chick likely has some difficult times ahead of her in the next 25 years (like I did); not something I'd care to repeat, not even if I could look like that again.  

At one point in the evening, I came across her walking in front of me.  She'd put on a cute little Santa hat, with fake leopard "fur" instead of the usual white "fur" as trim.  She stopped and turned around, except it wasn't her, it was another lady I know who is 62 years old.  I was a bit flabbergasted.  I also found it hard not to stare at her very large and plastic-iky perky bosom.  Apparently, that is what she spent her surgical dollars on, not her face, which, although very attractive, still looked to be a 60 year old face.

We spoke for awhile and then I watched as she teetered off with a leering old man in her wake.  I glanced at my husband (who was NOT watching her teeter off) and realized I'd just received a message.

I think I've been receiving these messages for a while, but just haven't been paying attention.  For example, a few weeks earlier, I was looking at a website that promised if you don't eat or drink these five foods, you'll banish belly fat (which, really, seems to be my main culprit these days), in a few short weeks.  

Well, three of the five were coffee, wine and dark chocolate. You may as well shoot me now, because that just ain't gonna happen!

Nor am I going to have the time to work out hours each day ,or will I stop eating.

You get my drift here?  I am not willing to do the things I'd have to do to get back (assuming I ever could) to how I looked when I was younger.  Frankly, there are a few things I couldn't change, anyway; which would result in me possibly looking like the 62 year old lady at the party last night.  So, if I'm not going to do these things, that leads me to the place where I have to LET IT GO.  No, no, I don't mean this as in, let ME go; just move on towards Part Two.

I bet most of you who were reading my earlier entries about Rocking 50 already figured that out, huh?

Last night while falling asleep, a thought, a voice, said to me, "Stop wasting time and energy wishing for what you've already had but can never have again.  Get up and move on".

But FIRST, I'm going to send Mr. B to the closet with a pair of scissors to cut out that size tag before I see it.

And THEN I will totally Rock 50!

Mrs. B


1 comment:

Mark Burling said...

Well, it was muscle and not fat! TA