Oh… how sad it is. I hang my head in grief and humiliation.
Seriously, I am not THAT old, but things are happening, the very things that I never imagined would apply to me.
Not such a big deal, now that I am here… I still feel valuable and valued and I am managing to swallow the lump in my throat… you know, that lump of realization that youth and outward beauty has decreased... Yeah, THAT lump. Regardless, I am handling this all better than I thought I would.
Do not get me wrong, it is not altogether pleasant, by any means.
So here I sit with this aging body. I know that I must approach certain things differently than I once used to. For example, stooping and/or deep bending at the knees. Shockingly, as of lately, I notice that once I am down, I cannot get back up in reverse; my knees have lost their torque. I find myself, embarrassingly, scrambling in such a way that only a chubby, middle-aged woman would do, to regain full height. Granted, I am certain that I could remedy this problem with simple weight loss and strength training, but… I will procrastinate until after I finish my nursing program. That is my new thing and my list is growing.
Another horror that I have stumbled upon are dark vinyl, pattern-less, sitting chairs. Do you have any idea what this means? It means that upon standing up from chairs such as this, I must check for butt and poot splotch. YEAH. I WENT THERE. My rogue-ass ovary has initiated overheating in my derriere and down-under region and I am pissed about it… Now I must constantly avoid certain sitting arrangements and if I cannot avoid sitting, then I must strategically raise with a butt-sliding motion to wipe the evidence of splotchy, female aging from the seat.
My rogue-ass ovary has initiated overheating in my derriere and down-under region and I am pissed about it…
MORTIFYING, MORTIFYING, MORTIFYING, especially when I forget the maneuver upon rising, OR if the maneuver fails altogether. I mean, how gross is it to see somebody’s butt and poot splotch?!? Who wants to sit there after THAT? *Sigh* And this whole mortification is based on my own witness account… Lemme tell you about it.
One day, long ago, when I was young and rarely humiliated by my youthful body (only by the occasional stomach growl or noisy escape of gas), I was working on a birthing unit as a floor clerk. The nurse’s station was set up galley style, with desks running up and down each side, connected by doctor’s dictation stations at one end, and central, fetal monitoring on the other. The clerk’s station was set up opposite the charge nurse’s desk and often the clerk and charge would push back on their roll-y, dark vinyl covered chairs and bump one another, back to back. Not a big deal, it was a normal occurrence. Well, on this one particular early morning, the floor was hoppin’ and babies were coming out of their mother’s left and right and the charge nurse had to take a patient until the day nurses arrived.
Bless her heart, this charge nurse, the woman of whom I sat back to back to and was in awe of her strength, knowledge, wisdom, and beauty… she was busy running to and fro, up and down from that awful, dark vinyl-covered chair. At one point, she hopped up to assist a patient and her chair slid next to where I was sitting, and that’s when I saw it: Butt and poot splotch. Honestly, I was so busy myself, I did not think anything of it until I heard the nurses to my left twittering and snickering and pointing at the chair. I made eye contact with the twitterers and snickerers and delivered to them an exaggerated cringe while I pushed the chair back to the charge’s station. I went back to my phone call, but I caught random snippets of their conversation and witnessed those nurses sharing the event with other nurses, all of whom acted cringe-y, just as I had. But most sadly? I never looked at the charge nurse the same, ever again. After bearing witness to her butt and poot splotch, I decided that she was the grossest woman EVER. *shakes head*
Pffft. Until now, of course. And DAMN how life comes back full circle and rubs our noses in all that we have once mocked!
And DAMN how life comes back full circle and rubs our noses in all that we have once mocked!
This new phenomenon has nearly destroyed me because I have always been a body perfectionist, especially in regard to cleanliness and female freshness. Like, I religiously wipe front to back, wash the poot daily with mild soap and rinse with a detachable shower head. A detachable shower head is mandatory for proper hygiene practices, I mean, how can a poot get clean and rinsed from a damn stationary shower head? That’s yeast, UTI, and bacterial vaginosis inbound STAT, like, right about the corner.… The oven must be carefully maintained and wrapped only in breathable cotton, not any of that nylon and silk (not even cotton lined!) sexy shit that men think is so great. No way, only the most natural for poot because stinky and itchy is NOT ACCEPTABLE. No excuses! That is how a female must roll. We must roll with clean and fresh butts and poots, always.
But. BUT. All the hygiene in the world will not stop that damn ovary from humiliating me with butt and poot splotch.
*Tears* here, peeps, mortified, shocked, embarrassed *tears*
And how many times has a young mind and body bared witness to my splotch? What must they think of me? What should I do about this, other than ingest herbals to combat overheating?
I feel like I should wear a sign (not really, C'mon, peeps), a sign that calls it out, like, “Hey! Please don’t acknowledge my splotch with disgust and disdain for what you think I MUST be, but instead, acknowledge the splotch for what it is and feel sorry for me. ‘Cause I’m not nasty or dirty… I’m just overheating, and my last ovary is serving endless Karma on a platter!” I like the idea of such directness, but, of course, it’s not so realistic...
I could always sit on a towel, I have seen that done many times by other splotch-suffering women. Or. Maybe they’re protecting themselves from the filth of the seat because they’ve spotted my splotch at some point?!?
I don’t even know what to do!
Perhaps I could start a movement or support group or something. Yes, because the youth with un-embarrassing bodies need to understand that… ultimately, us oldies are mortified, betrayed, embarrassed, and apologetic for the behavior of our bodies.
Please don’t disvalue us, because one day, if you’re lucky, you will BE us…