Sometimes you have a birthday and feel that the age doesn’t suit you. Personally, I was okay up to about 40, but every digit after that seemed worrisome. I began to think those things your mother used to say – Can I still wear this? Is the bar brightly lit? Do you say ‘groovy’ anymore?
And ageing is clearly sexist. Women can’t do ‘rugged’. Less men feel compelled to base their job prospects on their looks, and subsequently get into plastic surgery as a form of career maintenance. The cliché of the boss running off with the young secretary clearly isn’t about her dictation skills.
The downhill slide is more noticeable if you had a perky frontage previously. I was astounded to discover recently that scientists believe breasts were impermanent pre-Pleistocene times; they inflated and deflated like summer lilo’s. In fact, men would have actually found them a turn-off since they signalled a woman was already impregnated. And, once they had served their purpose for baby’s nutrition, they would have dwindled away.
Imagine the horror! Not only crows feet (read: laughter lines) and chin hairs (read: erm, chin hairs) but disappearing boobs to signal that the prime of your life is over. So, maybe we should be grateful for evolution – for turning breasts into our life-long pals. After all, there isn’t much that a push-up bra and a pair of high heels can’t solve.
Ageing must work from top to bottom for a reason. Babies grow proportionately from their head downwards i.e. first the brain and nervous system develop, then the limbs elongate and strengthen, until the child can sit, then stand, then walk. Similarly, we age that way – face and hair show the first signs of deterioration, but we are left with lovely knees. Who among us hasn’t had that awful shock when admiring a shapely pair of legs only to be startled when an ancient toothless crone’s face is attached? No? Just me then.
Perhaps there is a clue in the way our relationships need to develop. As babies, our wide-eyed innocence is designed to appeal to the parents nurturing instinct, and ensure that we are looked after to grow into adulthood. As we age, find a life partner, and produce a family, there comes a time when attracting a mate is no longer useful. Our looks decline so that we can concentrate on more cerebral tasks without distraction. Luckily, our eyesight often fails too, so we have no idea how rough we look.
I have decided that if this is the game plan, there must be a way to see the positive in it.
As Jenny Joseph said:
“When I am old, I will wear purple,
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me....
...And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.”
Hoorah! Roll on my disreputable years to come.
