Ageing Disgracefully

A male colleague I was chatting with yesterday (let's call him Dead Man Walking) mentioned in passing that I did not look like my photograph in the firm's website.

There was a notable pause after which blood started streaming out of my ears. I think my voice got so shrill in response that it went out of human hearing range, and only teenagers and dogs could hear me screaming.

I think he tried to explain and then gave up. No explaining necessary (or acceptable). Yes, I'm older now. I just have to accept it.

Youth is wasted on the young. I spent all of my 20s alternately worrying about my appearance and fretting about looking old. I never stopped to appreciate my face in the mirror, never looked at my lovely flat tummy and thin legs with any sense of satisfaction and self-fulfilment. I obsessed over my diet, my weight, my muscle tone, my skin tone, my hair .... but never spent more than fleeting moments actually thinking that I looked pretty damn cute. And that the low slung skin tight Levis jeans in my wardrobe would not fit me anymore in a few years time.

I read Sumiko Tan's article in the paper (of a similar sounding title, I recall) about ageing but it didn't really hit home until my colleague's remark. I can truly understand now how women can bring themselves to spend thousands of dollars and time and effort making themselves slimmer, prettier and more youthful looking. Now that I've been put on notice, it's all I can do to stop myself from jumping into the fray.

Someone once told me that I still looked incredibly youthful, as I jumped into his new Porsche. Who knows why people say the things they say.

Do I fight the inevitable or do I just resign myself to it. I recall my mother would get wolf whistles on the street from construction workers when she was in her late thirties and forties. At 13, I was fully aware that the wolf whistles were not meant for me, or my 10 year old brother.

Oh well. Glum now. Going home.