Friday, June 19, 2015

On fat arms and bad eyes

Let me just get this out of the way. I am vain. I admit it freely. On rainy days, I've been known to tell people, "I am far too prissy to be outside on a day like this." I'm intensely self-conscious, which I attribute to growing up with Vitiligo.  I don't hate all the parts of my body, but I've always had a profound dislike of my upper arms. You'd think I'd be willing to lift weights every day or something in order to loathe them a bit less, but apparently the hatred alone isn't motivating enough. When I got married, I made sure my wedding gown had full sleeves. And I wasn't even fat, really. My wedding dress was a size 8, I think.

When I was younger, I remember seeing older women in sleeveless shirts in the summertime and
mostly thinking, "Now, that is someone who values comfort over anything else."  I wasn't trying to be judgmental. I just thought, "Well, you'll never see me with my arms flapping around when I'm that age." I have also, for many years now, found myself scratching my head over the younger set, too. One of these days, I need someone to sit me down and explain to me why someone would wear a racer-back tank with a standard bra. Am I supposed to pretend I don't see the straps?

Anyway, for as long as I've been dressing myself, I've always made sure that my upper arms were covered so that no one would have to observe the horror of it all. Some things, once seen, cannot be unseen. Recently, however, my thinking shifted a bit. Some days, it gets really warm at the yoga class I attend each week.  The gym is pretty stuffy, too, of course. On a whim, I bought a Fila tank top at Kohl's. I wore it for the 5K we did last month. Then I bought another one and wore it to the 10K last weekend. It's like an epidemic now.  So yeah, now I am one of those old ladies with floppy arms who doesn't give a shit.

Other news on the aging front: something awful happened earlier this week. I ordered bi-focal glasses.  This is the pair I ordered:

They're Vera Wang and if you look at them closely, they have a bit of bling to them. I love them - just not the fact that I had to order bi-focals. I went to the optometrist on Wednesday and had to confess my vision woes to my optometrist. I can't see for shit. My near vision has declined considerably. When I'm making a recipe, I sometimes have to call my daughter over. "Sweetie? Does this say 1/3 cup or 2/3 cup?"  When it comes to recipes, the measurements . . . um, matter.  I already had bi-focal contacts, but it's an inexact science with those things and it's gotten harder and harder to see up close.  So, I will still have contacts (I don't like wearing glasses at yoga and at the gym), but Dr. K suggested that I could also buy . . . cheaters. Sweet Jesus, is there no dignity with this business of aging?

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