: eternal youth without the surgery :

Since the dawn of civilization, people have searched for the fountain of youth. Ponce de Leon did, Cindy Crawford did, but I’m the one who found it. Moi? Oui.

Now, I’m no world explorer (and certainly no supermodel), yet I managed to find a free and effortless way to hang on to my youth. And I wasn’t even looking, I was just standing on a sidewalk enjoying a lovely summer evening. That’s the beauty of summer, if you ask me. Every night, you’re presented with an opportunity to wander around under twinkling stars and shiny planets like the moon and Jupiter — you know, those bright spots in the sky.

Meanwhile, here on earth, lightning bugs were the bright spots, blinking and flashing their little hearts out. There weren’t a lot of them, just enough to be entertaining and a treat to behold. We don’t see them very often, not like we used to, anyway. So, because of their relatively rare appearance, I questioned what I was seeing: were these lightning bugs or was I having a stroke?

Age is such an unwelcome intruder.

No one over the age of 40 wants to be reminded how old they are. It’s the reason plastic surgeons and anti-wrinkle creams are so popular — and unbelievably expensive. They promise to restore our youthful appearance, put the bloom back on the rose. But, come on, who cares about appearances? It’s the damn numbers I find upsetting; those two jarring digits clash with my juvenile behavior.

I puzzled over the wide discrepancy between my mental and physical ages until I stumbled on a simple, workable solution: dog years. Henceforth, from this day on, I will measure my age in dog years, which puts me firmly in the 8- to 9-year old neighborhood. A good age for me, very suitable. Sure, I may look 100, but I think like a 10-year old. And, since I’m inside looking out, instead of outside looking in, how old I look is irrelevant.

Until I pass a mirror.

copyright © 2018 the whirly girl


18 Responses to “: eternal youth without the surgery :”

    • the whirly girl

      Thank you so much.

      To my very great surprise, it’s not nearly as awful as I imagined. Of course, it might get worse the older I get, but maybe not. I’m keeping my fingers crossed :0)


  1. Gallantly, gal

    HAHA love the dog year approach. Sometimes I feel like a kid, too. I think, “Wait I’m 27?? No way. That seems like such a mature number,” and in other ways, I feel old inside and can’t wait until I can comfortably settle into my granny skin. I already shout out, “YOUTHS THESE DAYS,” and, “BACK IN MY DAY,” so all I need is the cane to shake angrily.
    Age really is just a concept. I do think it’s sad how people fear getting older, but I get it in a sense. I feel like I’m “behind in life” sometimes and want to be in a good place by my thirties, but that’s a lot of pressure, too. On the other hand, I think worrying about looks is somewhat pointless. Welcome the wrinkles. It’s really no big deal.

    Liked by 1 person

    • the whirly girl

      You know what? I really wonder if I ever started the maturing process. The only benefit I saw to being a grown-up was a driver’s license. If I’d been the obedient type, the freedom would’ve seemed appealing, but willful was just as good. I can wear out almost anyone 🐐

      Liked by 1 person

  2. SilkPurseProductions

    Damn mirrors. They should have been outlawed years ago. Those magnification mirrors are a terror. One glance in there and I swear I see one of those monsters that can turn you to stone.

    Liked by 1 person

    • the whirly girl

      I hate mirros and the magnifying mirrors, the ones with lights, are instruments of terror! I keep the only mirror I own on the floor, propped against the wall, behind a door. That way I only see myself from the neck down —- nert nert nert

      Liked by 1 person

      • SilkPurseProductions

        Good idea! I have to tell you…last week we were in Ellicotteville, NY and stopped in a restaurant for lunch. It was a road trip so bladders were over extended by the time we got there. We headed to the loo. Each one (W & M) was single occupancy only. Once you get through the door there is barely enough room to pull down your pants and sit. Shoulders and knees touching walls. Then you look strait ahead and that wall, inches from you, is made of a floor to ceiling convex mirror like you would see in a fun house. IT WAS TRAUMATIZING!!!!!! OMG, I got so disoriented in the little space I thought I would never get out. All time worse mirror experience.

        Liked by 1 person

        • the whirly girl

          That’s hilarious! Knowing me, I’d have bolted, pants around my ankles, and tripped face-first and screeching into the restaurant. Thanks for the head’s up. I’ll do full reconnaissance when I need a restroom from now on 🙈

          Liked by 1 person

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