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For the first part of my life, I looked much younger than my age. I was trim, agile, with flowing, light-brown hair. In winter my complexion was peachy, in summer I cultivated an amber glow. My husband (the good one) married a beauty and was shocked when I

fell apart, piece by piece, and became a sweaty, menopausal banshee. And it happened during my kids’ Teen Years, which is never pleasant, even if menopause hasn’t reared its sweaty head.

 

My Decade Enhancement continued. The Good One passed away, leaving me wondering if I’d ever rediscover my mojo. I entered the dating scene in my late 50’s after dyeing my hair to cover the gray, taking up yoga, and restricting my diet to age-and-weight-appropriate foods that aged me by being boring.

 

Fortunately, my kids were through the dark, scary tunnel of teenaged angst and had emerged responsible and caring adults.

 

When weeks passed without a visit, they seemed surprised at my rapid deterioration... I meant to say newly acquired Enhancements.

 

Suddenly, I limped (osteoporosis and arthritis) and I broke out in sunspots, everywhere (darn tanning beds!) I got tired of coloring my hair and so, had the dyes stripped out, discovering that my hair was completely silver underneath all that goop.

Years passed. Things that were pointing north decided to go south and I started playing, “Which Tooth Will Fall Out Next?”

 

At one point last summer I decided to trace all the wrinkles on my face to see where they went. (Answer: Haddonfield). In a final attempt at youth, I bought a special undergarment and almost choked to death on my own cleavage: It was then that I discovered that all the Enhancements in the world wouldn’t turn back the decrepit hands of time.

 

After a few years, I moved back to my happy place and was glad that folks still recognized me. I wasn’t too surprised that they, too, had been busy becoming Enhanced.

 

The decades of my life are moving swiftly, now. I try to focus on the wonderful years I spent with people I loved and the excitement of youth, looking and feeling just fine without anything hurting or sagging or puckering up or down. 

 

It was fun, that thing called youth. But I must say that I’m enjoying every moment of my final couple of decades not caring that I’m frumpy or gray. After all, everyone, if they’re lucky, gets old. And it takes quite a few decades to have the mojo to write about it.