The Dotage Diaries – The gradual decline is a slow, downhill roll from middle-aged spread.
I’m not sure when your dotage is supposed officially supposed to start, but I fear the tell-tale signs have been around for a while now. Just small things. I haven’t got to the stage where I open the fridge door and find my confused but well fed cat suffering from a mild case of hyperthermia. It’s more like leaving my bunch of keys in the car door when I go shopping. Fortunately, on both occasions, I was shopping at Waitrose, the posh place to shop, according to Michael McIntyre, so they were still there when I got back.
There is nothing good about getting older, which starts with middle-aged spread. I used to have a waist but it has now taken on the proportions of a well-filled potato sack, and the wintry looking, brittle strands of hair, that used to be blonde, is depressing.
I knew all the answers to the Times 2 crossword this morning, but I just couldn’t remember them. Sigh.
Every morning, I look in the mirror and find another blemish has appeared on my face over night. Age spots? Marmite-coloured manifestations that come in a various shapes and sizes, and not just on your face.
The eruptions of a crispy consistency that have started appearing on my face, are a concern. I scratched the last one off. It hasn’t come back, yet. As a teenager I never suffered from blackheads or pus-filled pimples so I suppose I am paying the price now.
Most mornings I wake up and my joints seem to be wrapped in invisible straight jackets.
I blame all these manifestations on Autoimmune Disease, because living with it is a trial, but I really can’t hold it responsible for not being able to remember what I watched on the TV last night.
I have no control over these things, the weight gain, the forgetfulness, the facial degeneration, they just seem to happen, but, let’s look on the bright side, at least I am still in control of my bladder, well, it’s only when I laugh.