I love myself dearly. I think that I have psychologically and spiritually developed into a moderately balanced individual. My body is a very different story. I may be young at heart, but at the ripe old age of 34, the body is showing some pretty obvious signs of ageing.
Back when I was living in the tropics with a perpetual tan, I never noticed the freakish little things that were appearing all over my body. Having an olive complexion, I am not as prone to skin cancers as my more pale contemporaries, but it hasn’t stopped a plethora of other beasties from turning my flawless skin into a patchwork of scars, bumps and lumps.
Anyone under 30 who is reading this post should probably look away right now. We’re gonna talk about some pretty nasty stuff. I am talking mutant hairs, skin tags and haemorrhoids. It’s not classy, but it’s real, fellas.
At 34, I have given up on pretending that I will be forever young. In the last couple of years I have developed a nasty external haemorrhoid that pops up every other week. It’s not painful to sit or walk. Apparently they are common as we age. Great. I am getting old.
Then there’s the skin tags that seem to be growing under my arms and in other places where no skin tag should be. What the hell are skin tags anyway? I am growing these vestigial nipples all over the place. Sure, they are easy to get rid of, but please! Do I look like I need to provide mother’s milk to a litter of twelve?
I have also developed a few interesting mutant white hairs. Do not call them grey. I am not ready for that yet. There is one that grows straight out of my right lower eyelid. No amount of firming eye cream will stop that. In fact, I think the ingredients in that Nivea concoction I smear on my face daily is actually feeding the bastard. There is also one that grows out of my left forearm. It is around 15 cm longer than the others and just seems to come from nowhere. Let’s not talk about those “white” hairs that are starting to appear on my temples...
Is it just me, or do old scars seem to take on a new life when you get older? An old stab wound in my hand (long story) is more visible now than it was 10 years ago. My replaced knees are aching in winter... and there is nothing natural left in my knees to cause an ache! Old sprained ankles are acting up. The right shoulder I dislocated in Year 11 playing Rugby League for my high school is starting to sting again.
Let’s not even start on the crows feet, the dry skin around my ankles and the slowly hardening toe nails. Getting older is not pretty. But it happens to all of us.
I need a ritual to mark my approach to middle age. Some kind of initiation rite. Or at least a support group for those of us who are not yet ready to start labelling themselves “bears”.
For now, I might start by turning off the lights before sex.
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