I have to share with you the craziest thing that keeps happening to me. Each and every day, when I brush my teeth in the morning and at night, someone else is there brushing right there with me! Not in a ghostly way, or a spiritual way, or even a Harry Potter-esque way. It’s insane. She resembles me, I guess. Which in turn means she looks like my Dad (minus the dreaded comb-over). She has much whiter hair, much paler face and a she’s a bit gaunt and wrinkly. She is never anywhere else around the house. She’s not in the car. She’s not at the office where I work. She’s never reading or playing with the kids. She certainly doesn’t do the laundry around here…baffling how she has the same oral hygienic proclivities as me, in my very own bathroom, in my very own home. A fastidious flosser she is!
If she’s going to be here, she might as well do her part. Cook, shop, clean? Did I mention she should cook?
Could that person be me? Really? Could my very own image of myself be so distorted that I am still recalling ‘the me’ of my 30’s? Or even my 20’s? Sheeze, at this point I’ll take ‘me’ in my 40’s! I’ve had a lot of diagnoses in my life, but am I really coming dangerously close to being an alte kocker (literally, an old fart?)? I already have an AARP card. When did this happen? How dare she, this woman, show up in my bathroom mirror, of all places, with the chutzpah to expose my vision of myself, to me, of all people! Oy vey.
Well they say age is just a number. As long as you’re healthy, a bei gezhunt…
You’re only as old as you feel. Feel, shmeel. Let’s stop this right now.
I can walk away from that reflection, and be just fine. No need to be farhklempt. Age happens. I have a beautiful family, a loving partner, and two wonderful and sensitive daughters. I have more energy than all three of them put together (even with chronic pain-–well mostly). I need to stop kvetching and keep kvelling. Look at all that is good in my life. Such naches. I am grateful. And yes, I am 52. Six hundred and thirty-seven months old (thank goodness, this horrid way of calculating age stops early).
I won’t think about this again (at least until tonight, before bed).
What’s a girl woman to do?