Aging Not So Gracefully
I recently attended a PGA golf tournament in Hilton Head. We go to the RBC Heritage Presented by Boeing every year. As a matter of fact, Heritage Week is my favorite holiday.
I don’t have to purchase presents, bake cookies, hide eggs, baste a bird, or drive across town to visit friends and relatives, yet there is still plenty of food and wine. Plus I truly enjoy watching golf and this year’s event did not disappoint. There was so much excitement and energy! Now to many of you, you may find these adjectives contradictory to the sport, but I love slow sports like golf and baseball. They are easy for me to follow along, the grass is well-manicured, the hot dogs are delicious and the people-watching is amazing. Although I have to say the people watching (on and off the course) at a golf tournament is far superior to nine innings at any given ball stadium. Most golfers are incredible athletes (do you know how many Fitbit steps you can log walking 18 holes?). I prefer a man with a tall and lean build to a bodybuilder (although the biceps busting out of the uniform of the bodyguard following Jordan Spieth was something to behold). This year’s tournament was “elevated” meaning increased chances to win REALLY.BIG.MONEY with REALLY.BIG.NAMES are in attendance. There were 140+ golfers to watch. It was a smorgasbord of eye candy. And the players aren’t the only beautiful people.
A fun game to play at any PGA tournament is “Identify the Pros Spouse”. If you’ve seen the movie The Stepford Wives, you understand. The women seem to all look alike and wear the same uniform. Tall and thin like their husband, long flowing bleach-blonde hair, baseball hat, large diamond earrings to match the rock on their left hand, and Lululemon gear every day but Sunday where a long flowing sundress is in order with super cute and supersensible sneakers. Each wife is at least half my age and apparently smarter than the college students in attendance. The Sorority girls wear short flowing sundresses (don’t they know it can be windy on the holes near the water?) and spiky shoes suitable for aerating grass. Throw a few overpriced beers in and it’s really quite the show watching them desperately hold onto their boyfriend’s arms as they try to sashay across the course in high heels without breaking an ankle!
But back to the players’ wives…
The thing I have noticed is the wives also seem very natural with either minimal plastic surgery or just a really good plastic surgeon. Or maybe they are just young.
I was young once but with each passing year, I notice one more body part has revolted. Last month it was the orange peel dimples on my sagging arms. At sixty years of age, I’ve had the sag for a bit, but the dimples were something new. As I donned my #PLAIDNATION outfit on Saturday – red sundress with the black/red/white tartan plaid ball cap, matching lanyard, and white FitFlop leather sneakers – I felt as if I could pass for one of the players’ moms. Until I noticed the dimples. Then I thought maybe I could pass for John Rahm’s grandma. How and when did this happen? It seems the Aging Fairy visited me during the night and “POOF” another body part has been rearranged or redesigned. I just wish the Aging Fairy would leave some money under my pillow like the Tooth Fairy used to so I could get a little work done.
Seriously, even if I had the money, I probably wouldn’t have plastic surgery, especially after seeing the freakish “Bubble Woman” near the practice green outside the clubhouse. From a distance, she looked as if she could be a golfer’s wife, but as we snuck a closer look, it was obvious she was probably closer to 45. Sadly, everything looked fake from her full fish lips, to her Botox-filled face that conveyed a perpetually surprised look, to her almost concave belly and bleached blonde bubble bob wig. She appeared to have come directly from the set of the E! series, Botched. It was just what I needed to remind myself I should be happy in my own wrinkled skin. While she had been visiting bad surgeons, I’d been visited by the Aging Fairy.
I can recall the first time the Aging Fairy stopped by. I was pushing 50 and awoke one morning to discover my butt had swung around to the front and my boobs and stomach had become one. When I put my leggings on that day I thought I had them on backwards. The seat was sagging and the elastic around my middle so tight I had to roll it down under my tummy. What the hell?!?!
The Aging Fairy has waved her magic wand many times since blessing me with:
- Age spots most likely named after said fairy. How in the world did that cute childhood smattering of freckles morph into 1001 giant brown splotches overnight?
- Various non-cancerous and pre-cancerous growths that need to be removed by a professional. Unfortunately, I’ve been unable to convince my dermatologist that the mole on my stomach near my belly button is probably melanoma and should be dug out along with all of the surrounding tissue.
- Crepey skin on my décolletage and above my knees that look as if I showered in Elmer’s Glue prior to visiting a tissue paper factory.
- Smile lines as deep and wide as the Grand Canyon which I’ve found are less noticeable if I’m smiling so the cycle here is quite vicious.
- Droopy eyelids which eventually will need surgery covered by Medicare. At least there is one perk to turning 65!
- An inherited double chin that now appears as if my father may have been a Tom turkey with a very generous wattle.
- Speaking of birds, how ‘bout them crow’s feet?!?
- Speaking of feet, what ‘bout that bunion?!?
- Brittle bones and delicate ligaments caused a stress fracture, torn tendons, plantar fasciitis, and an orthopedic boot for the majority of 2022.
- Dark circles and bags under my eyes that scream “This gal has insomnia!” which has me wondering why I’ve never actually seen the Aging Fairy in the middle of the night?
- Dry brittle hair. You’d think after my season of baldness during a stint with cancer, I’d be grateful for any type of hair at all, but honestly, I’ve just washed my hair and I can’t do a thing with it (who remembers that Twice as Nice Shampoo commercial from 1968?). Prior to chemo, my hair was very soft and fine. Post-chemo and post-menopause, my hair has the texture and color of a Brillo pad. Oy Vey!
The good news is after extensive research, I discovered you have 20 baby teeth to lose which means 20 tucks under the pillow from the Tooth Fairy. If the Aging Fairy is the same, I’m more than halfway through her visits! And as for the money under the pillow, it would still be appreciated. I could use a Keratin treatment and another pair of orthopedic shoes, neither of which are cheap.