Today the goddess speaks about herself:
I keep staring in mirrors to see if I have any pigment left in my skin. A week of snow days kept me indoors and out of the light. There isn't one teensy tiny bit of melatonin left in my biggest organ. (No, not my goddess gut! Go skim your high school biology book now. I'll wait.)
I'm already one of the whitest girls on the planet. If I don't get some significant reys soon I am going to fade away completely. Yesterday, at the market, I noticed another white chick leaning against the bin of oranges with her face turned up to the sun. She had her eyes closed and looked very serene. I was tempted to join her but, thought better of it, when I realized the glare from our duel foreheads could permanently blind anyone walking toward us.
When I was a kid I had all sorts of melatonin. Some people even described me as being olive skinned. I could tan like a marshmallow over an open flame. Not anymore -- now I get very red before peeling, revealing even whiter skin; even my eye color is fading. I don't even want to talk about what is underneath my L'Oreal medium golden brown tresses.
I have to say that getting older does have its advantages. For instance life insurance companies stop bugging you. Also, doctors want to give you a lot of drugs. They just offer them unsolicited. It's very nice. When my dentist inquired about my jaw pain and, I told him it was still 24/7, he offered to write me a prescription for something that would RELAX me. Only a few years ago he was sending me to physical therapy, bio-feedback, and the acupuncturist. My MD was the same with my recent knee injury. When the MRI didn't show any damage, he prescribed me a life-time supply of a top notch pain killer. Score! When I was younger these same docs would have tried to get to the root of the problem so I could get back on the ski slopes. Apparently, I am now past the point of no return. At the ripe old age of 44 and three-quarters I get to look forward to a life of sedation. Now all I need is for my alternative health practitioner to give me a medical MJ card and I'll be livin' large.
Losing weight is very interesting at this age too. The more weight I lose, the more skin heads south. (Weight loss is only attained past the age of 40 by careful 'hormone balancing' -- don't even get me started) As much as I would like to celebrate my smaller pant size, I can't help but notice that my rear is getting caught in the top of my socks, and my breasts keep getting tangled up in my belt loops. And, I don't know what drug I need to cope with the belly skin that just won't snap back to its original position but, I want it! I really really do.
Don't get me wrong; I'm still a red hot goddess! I'm just a little confused about how to arrange all of my parts into my clothes to achieve a desirable shape. It's a little like sculpting. I've become an artist of sorts. So, I have that going for me. Guess that will be my second career -- 'Sagging Body Part Rearranger'. I'm already a pretty good hair and face painter. Really, what I am at this point is a blank canvas, or a giant mass of sculpy clay. Hmmm. . . I always knew that I was a work of art.
May peace and graceful aging be yours from, The Goddess of Everything
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