Thursday, January 14, 2016

Birthdays, Metamorphosis, and Vera

Birthdays? Is today your birthday?

Why, yes! Yes it is my birthday.

Happy birthday to you, Vera!

Thank you, Dear Reader!

How old are you now?

Five.

Five? Where?

Heh, five in dog years.

Oh. So you're thirty-five (35), am I right?

Ding! Ding! Ding! Yes, indeedy!

Ooh, do I get a prize?

Hell no! It's my birthday!

Aw man....

So, what did you get me for my birthday, Dear Reader?

Umm, nothing.

And you want a prize for correctly guessing my age? Proverbial pot calling the kettle black, much?

Well, at least I tried.

I can't fault you for that.  Your metamorphosis is just as fascinating as mine.

Metamorphosis? Seriously? It's too early in the day to discuss science.

First off, not it's not. Second, I have noticed you paying attention to my posts, to which I say "thank you very much".  And third, I like watching my own metamorphosis.

You mean to tell me that you like watching yourself age?

Fuck yeah! It's one of the coolest things about life.

What kind of drugs did you get for your birthday?

Just refills of what I already take, heh.  But seriously, when I look at myself in the mirror, or when I take a shower, I notice small things about my body that are starting to shift and soften and such.  For me, that's pretty fucking cool.  The chest boulders are getting more indents and wrinkles because the fibrous tissue is turning into fat (lack of use, probably).  I'm kinda disappointed in the lack of gray hairs I have on my head (my chin and other parts of my body have some explaining to do as to why they aren't sharing their graying goodness with its cranial counterpart).  Gravity is starting to pull down parts of my fatty fat fat, like in my face, my neck, and my stomach, which means it will be more gratifying once the weight loss/management bariatric program thingy kicks in.  Even my senses have started to dull a bit; my hearing doesn't pick up the dog whistle anymore, my vision is bifocal precise, and my snout doesn't smell sharply like it used to.  The only thing I'm concerned about is my short term memory; I want to go to the bathroom or to the mail room, I get there, and then the reason why I went there in the first place is totally wiped out of my memory blank.  Weird isn't it?

Yeah, you can say that again.

How come?

Well, Vera. Most people frown at those things about getting older.  In fact, it's an American societal norm to be sad over aging.  Hollywood directors want fresh young faces and bodies, not broken down ones.

Wait, I'm going to Hollywood?

No, no, no!  You're not supposed to "like" getting older.

Says who?  Society?  Have you not yet noticed how well I do with societal norms?

I know, but....

What's wrong with getting old?  Seriously?! Most cultures around the world admire and respect folks who age and get older.  In a lot of places nowadays, most folks don't get to see the age of 30, let alone 35.  American culture worries about the silliest things, and that goes without saying, but aging should not be one of them.  So what if I have sagging skin?  Or saggy m/boobs?  Or a droopy face?  Who cares?  If people can't accept me on the outside, flaws and all, then people won't accept me on the inside; I won't allow them to.

This is a perfect example of taking no shits and giving no fucks.

So how come you said you were "five" in the beginning and not "thirty-five"?

Who says I have to "act" my age? *phft*

I like your spunk, Vera.  Again, happy birthday.  Enjoy your AARP card when it comes in 15 years.

I intend to.  If I live that long, heh.

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