'Sex', in hot red letters, graces the cover of the AARP magazine lying seductively in the mail box where, at first glance, it resembles my granddaughter's Cosmo. Single and enjoying my own processes of life, I cringe in terror at the thought of missing something and leaving an unearned T-shirt or mouse pad.
Inside this magazine mutation, weathly plastic seniors profess to aging as one should - with tucks, trims, sucks and stitches - and inserting those new shapes into grandkids' clothing. Taught by trainers, massaged by wannabes, coifed, colored and chauffeured to exciting careers they soon sneak into elevators for lovely lusty trysts with the next handy mate. My eyes turn green with envy.
Having sensational sex several times a day sounds like a perfect way to while away the golden years until I remember past partners and wonder if they improved with age. Shuddering, I mutter, 'Down with Viagra', and render a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Eveready.
Reading further, I learn bottled hair color should not be obvious, artificial nails should be applied religiously and I should always wear a smile on my lips, a prayer in my heart and a flirt on my hips.
Well. In the interest of saving time, money and stress, I dress in brightly colored floor-length T's that double as dress or nightie and my gray hair serves as a beacon at dusk.
I sometimes wonder who let the air out of my arms, brought my thighs to my knees and planted fanny fat in my tummy. It annoys me when I bend over and my eyes close by the lower lids, but mostly it's enough to have original hips and a beating heart. A smile is nice but not mandatory - some days hateful thoughts spill blithely from my lips.
Living, by itself, is a good thing.