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Saturday, October 11, 2014

Are You Getting Decrepit?

“I need to have an operation,” I groaned as I slunk into bed in my undies last night.

“Why?” asked Scotto in alarm.

“To have this roll of fat from my stomach removed,” I replied petulantly, clutching a fist of it and wobbling it around in his face.

“Don’t be silly, Pinky,” he said. “I love you for who you are.”

There were a few seconds of nervous silence as I digested this.

‘I love you for who you are???’

He used to say… “Don’t be a fool Pinky. You’re not fat.”

Now he’s saying, I love you for who you are!!!

I want him to love me for my exotically sinuous body not for who I bloody am!

“You love me for who I am,” I reiterated. “What the fudge does that mean?”

He stared at me like a starving cat caught stealing frozen prawns defrosting on the kitchen counter.

“I mean I love you the way you are… because you don’t look any different… you look the same,” he stammered.

“I knew it!” I said in triumph. “I’m fat!”

Blind Freddy could see it really. I shouldn’t need anyone to tell me. But that’s not the only sure sign of old age and its insidious advancement upon my bodylicious.

I also have a loose tooth in my head.

What? I didn’t tell you I have a loose tooth? Oh yeah… I have a loose tooth. And it’s not one of those back teeth that nobody will see when I smile. Oh no. This is a tooth that’ll instantly demote me to Swamp People status if I lose it.

I went to the dentist in a panic during the school holidays. It’s like one of those nightmares where your teeth fall out but this time it really is happening.

She took x-rays and tried to shame me.

“Look Mrs. Pinky,” she said holding them up to the light. “You have no bone left in your upper left jaw.”

I blinked away tears. “But where did it go? Will it grow back?” I asked, bottom lip trembling.

“No,” she said kindly. “Not unless you get a bone graft. You’ll have to go to a periodontist.”

I thought about all the fibs* I’ve told my boss over the years. Fibs about having to take the day off to go to a ‘dental specialist’ who’ll only see me between 9:00 and 3:00 and how now my scheming lies seem to have matured into a self-fulfilled prophecy. It was Karma come to bite me like a bitch.

“How did the dentist go?” Scotto asked me when I arrived home.

“She said my gums are so bad I could floss with a sock!” I screamed at him.

I’d seen her write ‘poor dental hygiene’ on my referral form and I was furious. Judgy McJudger!

The thing is my teeth are perfect. I haven’t had a filling since I was twelve years old so it’s not that I have poor dental hygiene at all.

It’s those five bloody kids I gave birth to within six years. My gums went all spongy for half a decade allowing nasty things to gain access.

I saw this meme on Facebook posted by our handsome Melbourne friend Mark and had to save it. It’s so true.

When I was a kid and stayed at my grandparents I’d listen to them get up in the morning and gleefully marvel at the amount of flatulence I’d hear echoing from the toilet bowl.

That’s me now. It’s like I somehow swallowed a hot air balloon during the night. It’s a wonder the neighbours haven’t rung the police to complain about someone practising a Flugelhorn at six in the morning.

Mind you, Scotto (the Trumpetmaster) is ten years younger than me and he gives the Philharmonic Orchestra a run for its money when he sits on the Iron Throne.

I don’t get it. Why do old people accumulate so much gas overnight?

At least it explains why the youngies call us “Old Farts”.

My colleagues’ opinion of my driving is further proof of my eligibility for membership to the Republic of Old Party.

“I sat beside you at the lights frantically waving and you sat there staring into space and left me hanging!” they accuse.

“Why do you sit so close to the steering wheel Pinky? Don’t you crush your knees?” they needle. “You look like a little old lady on her way to lawn bowls!”

I'm a careful driver, okay??

The final thing I’ve noticed is I’ve begun to talk like a geriatric. For example, I’ve started putting “the” in front of things I shouldn’t, as in "Is it hot in here or is it the menopause?"

“Have you seen that video clip of kangaroos fighting on the Youtube?” I asked my eighteen year old daughter Lulu yesterday. Her scowl of derision almost melted my face with its intensity.

She should remember that getting old is not a crime and one day she’ll turn into her mother… just like I have apparently.

* If my boss is reading this I really did have to go to the dental specialist.

Have you noticed any of these symptoms yet?