One Shade of Grey

The fact I am aging has not escaped me. I can see it happening. I can feel it happening. Heck, I can even hear it happening.

Clearly, there a few lines at the side of my eyes when I smile or laugh. There are also some creases in my forehead when I look surprised or sneeze or do nothing at all. All of that can easily be wiped away by my little friend named Botox when I feel the wrinkles have crossed a line (no pun intended).

My hands are beginning to look like those of a middle-aged accountant’s. What can only be described as two “age marks” have started forming there—splotchy, unsightly dots—while at the same time, the skin seems to have loosened up considerably. My feet, on the other hand, have hardened into two unbreakable paddles covered in leather so rough, it can cut you. But, these are issues a laser treatment or two can fix in a jiffy.

My body now aches to warn me of impending rain storms or to inform me on things such as its refusal to function the next day if made to sleep on anything other than a Tempur-Pedic mattress. Sometimes it hurts for no apparent reason at all, just because it’s cranky. All the small injuries that I compiled during my years playing tennis has led my body to betray me with fused bones, throbbing joints, and swollen tendons. Again, this is something I expected would happen, and, as any budding old fart would, I sort of like being able to say, “My ankle is killing me, that means it is going to storm tonight.”

My knees, elbows, ankles, hips, and neck all crack and pop incessantly. Night and day. 24/7. If some part of me isn’t popping or snapping with each step I have taken in the past year, I don’t know about it. At this point, I have a regular routine I perform on myself to make sure all my joints and limbs, and any other movable part on my body, have popped before bed.

I have developed the very annoying habit of grunting, “OH!” each time I raise up from a sitting position. I realize all this snap, crackle, and popping probably has a lot to do with being overweight, and because being overweight is not the subject being discussed, I will gloss over it. (See how easy it is to ignore weight-related issues!)

As you can see, I have a pretty healthy grasp on the fact that I am now middle-aged. I gladly acknowledge all the above-mentioned conditions. I fully realize I can no longer eat a pizza at 1:00 a.m. without dire consequences. My idea of “going out” now involves being in bed asleep by midnight. But, nothing, and I mean nothing, could prepare for what I saw as I showered this morning.

A grey hair.

A grey hair DOWN THERE!!

WHAT THE HELL?! No one ever mentioned hair in that area greyed. EVER!

The hair on my head started prematurely greying when I was 16 years old, so I am no stranger to hair dye. My chest hair started greying about five years ago, and I have seen many men with grey chest hair, so that was no surprise. But this, this was a horse of a different color (pun intended that time).

At first, I thought it was an errant chest hair that had just fallen and drifted down in the area where the “love hair” lives. Then I realized I was wrong, and it was actually attached to my person, paralyzing me in the shower. I couldn’t move, let alone breathe. I suddenly felt my life flash before me. How has this happened?!

This is apparently some deep, dark secret that the Aging Lords do not want people to know. I am sure if people realized their pubes were going to grey, there would be a lot more research and exploration for Ponce De Leon’s Fountain of Youth. I, for one, would donate money on a regular basis to fund such a search if it meant never again seeing what I did in the shower this morning.

Seriously, WHY AREN’T WE FUNDING THIS?

I know there are hair dyes for men’s hair, mustache, and beards. I now wonder if they make a dye for the hair in your special place? Perhaps this could be a new business venture for me.

My shower ended like a scene from a Lifetime movie–me hunched down in the tub, crying a bit while the warm water poured over me. I think I may have thrown up a little bit in my mouth. I then pulled myself together and stood up, grunting “OH!” as my knees popped, grabbed the grey bandit, held my breath, and yanked out the hair from my nether region. If the old wives’ tale about pulling out one grey hair and seven growing back in its place is true, then I have a lot to think about this week.

One thing is certain, manscaping is in my immediate future.