Who needs a store-bought Halloween costume? I look in the mirror at all the ravages that Father Time has done to this tired old body and I’m about as scary as I can get without putting on a mask or wig.
What were once freckles are now fast spreading age spots, and beauty marks have turned into moles that seem to pop up in weird places and make me worry about skin cancer, something that I never thought about a few years ago.
I have lumps and bumps and rolls where once there was an hourglass figure. My skin now drinks in lotion like a camel at an oasis, no longer the texture of a baby’s bottom; rough where it should be smooth and sagging like the shoulders of the exhausted elderly woman I’m fast becoming.
The boobs are heading South of the border and my feet are getting bigger; but not near as fast as my ass is spreading out. The gray is fast taking over my once reddish brown curls and my hairdresser is losing the battle to camouflage the iron colored strands with streaks and highlights.
So I’m not going to dress up tonight. Instead I’m gonna so without makeup, let my hair go wild and stop trying to suck in my gut. I’m wearing sweats, a t-shirt and no bra. I’m letting it all hang out (picture the grandma on the Klumps running in the dream sequence with boobs bouncing all over the place!) and scare all the tick or treaters who show up at the door with my natural hideous self.
So come and get some candy kids. Don’t be afraid, this too will happen to you in a hundred years or so. Happy Halloween y’all.