Ageing

The Shock of Ageing

I was carded in a bar the last time when I was 30. I was thrilled. Throughout my life I have been told I looked young for my age.

Earlier, I didn't appreciate looking young. 

At 16 when I was a cub reporter, looking 11 built my confidence as I had to argue, I was a real reporter and my editor would kill me if they didn't let me in or answer my questions. Afterwards, I would go back to my car and cry, which I guess not many grown-up reporters do.

I had to convince a policeman I was the legal owner of the driver's license that I had just handed him. There were no photos then.

This continued throughout much of my adult life probably for two reasons.

1. I was undertall and thin
2. Thanks to my genes, my skin remained smooth.

However, all good things come to an end. 

I used to be a redhead (Oréal 666 no comments on the number please.) After chemo, I was thrilled to discover my hair was white and gray as I had wished for years. 

Although I still thought of myself as young-looking for my ages, a few wrinkles began creeping in.

What can I expect when I will be 77 tomorrow? Still, I do not like those wrinkles but vanity continues with age. I've made my husband promise if he ever puts me in an old-age home, he is to make sure my underwear and clothes are color-coordinated.

Still I tried to continue to think of myself as young looking (relatively--say 10 years younger than the number of my birth year subtracted from the current year).

Then three things happened. 

A person offered me his place on a bus. I took it. It balanced when I offered older people my place. But did I look old enough to need it?

At the Fête des Vignerons as I was walking downstairs of the stadium quite gingerly, one of the ushers dressed in the bird costume, took my hand and guided me down.

I admit since chemo, when nerves in my feet were tampered with, I am smarter to take my time when walking especially on stairs or anything uneven. It is better than rolling around in the street, which is ever so embarrassing. But that could be a problem under the same circumstances with someone who had chemo at any age.

The third incident happened as I was going through security at Cointrin, the Geneva airport. Just as I was about to lift my small suitcase, which is decorated in teddy bears, onto the conveyor belt, the woman behind the belt burst out and did it for me. Didn't the teddy bears scream youth? Or maybe she thought it was my granddaughter's suitcase.

In all three cases I said merci but realized in my mind, I think younger than I look. I know in choosing my clothes I try to settle somewhere between mutton dressed as lamb and old fart. 

Ageing is better than the alternative...

May I never be too old to jump on a trampoline.