Oil of Oh-hey

Banana boobs.  Muffin tops. Cankles. Chub rub. Bat wings. Thees (when your thigh and knee look like one).  These were words that were foreign to me as a spry youngster.  When I was twenty there were times that I would be so preoccupied in my day that I forgot to eat.  Now, I get the hunger pangs if I don't feed at my trough every twenty minutes.  Then, I could shove chicken fingers subs and a BK broiler down my gullet and it wouldn't even be a blip on the radar.  Now, I even think about a french fry and my *dunkadoolittle quintuples in size (*fill in the blank).  Things that were once high, toned, sleek, and smooth are now low, flat, stretched, and wide.  When I was twenty-five I had a conversation with a friend who is a few years older than me and she said, "Sharpe, just you wait until your tree rings of life hit thirty.  You'll be looking in the mirror and ask yourself, when did that happen?  Has that always been there?  Were they always so close to my belly button?"  Being young and naive I brushed off the "warning" and thought, "Nah.  Not me."  Ppppbbbbtttttt.  Let me tell you, twenty-something me was an idiot.  Now at the ripe old fat ass age of thirty I have since learned that some things are inevitable.  Gravity takes over areas that were once protected.  I find myself wandering down the "healthy" isle looking for a good flax seed oil that will help prevent my bat wings from taking flight, and vitamins A-Z to help stave off crows feet, triple chin, frowny knees, and a three-ring circus from taking up tent around my mid-section.  I have to do things that make me sweat, lift bells that are dumb, and do the ever dreaded squat.  And whoever invented the squat, I would personally like to pinch in the face.  But the fact of the matter is, things change and apparently I have to roll with the punches.  I've already decided that when things really start to droop/wither/sag, I will hire a team that will conduct the pulleys and levers that will help hold things in place (and up high), and  I will wear a head-to-toe unitard of Spanx to help give the illusion that I am one finely tuned fifty year old (it's good to plan ahead.)  I will scotch tape my face back to give me that shocked/scared/surprised look, and will simply pluck out all of the shining/glistening gray hairs so that my four strands remaining will boldly gleam in their brunette brilliance (which I will adorn with a bow.)  In other words, I plan to (continue to) age gracefully.
To sum it all up, growing older blows, but I've found it easier to deal with when you accept things are bound to change.  Now pardon me. I have to go do my leg lifts so I don't get "flat ass syndrome" because I just thought about something other than a Lean Cuisine. :)
And for your viewing pleasure, a video clip of me.  In the future.