Over 50, Still Kickin'

The older I get, the less I expect. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to run up the white flag.

If I need a longer shower to get the joints moving, then add another dollar to the water bill. So what if my favorite jeans are tight in all the wrong places? Spandex has become my new best friend. And if I must cross my legs whenever I sneeze, well, at least I can still manage that maneuver and walk at the same time. But I'll tell you one thing I did not expect at my age: pimples. I mean, c'mon. That's just not playing fair.

The media delight in referring to my demographic as the "aging baby boomers." We used to be the plain old "baby boomers," but now we can't go anywhere without being reminded of our new status. Estate planners are beating the bushes; golf and lake communities are calling day and night; AARP is kicking down my door. All right, already. But must I greet them all with a pimple, smack dab in the middle of my forehead?

Unfortunately, the pimple and I share a long and scarred history from the trenches. At that adolescent moment I first spied a bump on what had been my formerly flawless skin, war was declared on my face. As the general, armed for battle with whatever magic potion I could muster, my mission was simple: seek out and destroy the intruder.

This, too, was simple, since the enemy was so easy to spot -- because, comrades, it was invariably one GIANT pimple. The kind of pimple that enters a room before you do. The blemish that looks like a third eye, except that it never blinks. Unless it was on my forehead. Then, every time I raised my eyebrows in surprise, the pimple actually did blink.

For years, I attacked this solitary enemy. Through my teens, I dabbed Sea Breeze on it and prayed for a miraculous healing. Young adulthood, I globbed Clearasil on top of it, with a double-dip of concealer. Mid-thirties, I switched to Adult Clearasil and added moisturizer to the mix. Fabulous forties, I threw in sunscreen. Basically, I had a Molotov cocktail of skin care products on that pimple. But no matter what I did, month after month, it popped its angry head up to mock me yet again. Honestly, wouldn't you think by the half-century mark, the enemy would retreat? Apparently, my persistent pimple didn't get those marching orders.

Then, just when the battle lines looked bleakest, menopause came along. Which, if I'm being perfectly honest, was not all that bad. I'd always leaned a little to the cold side, so those hot flashes really warmed me up. Gray hairs? I'd been using highlights for years. I have no idea what my true hair color is. Neither does my hairdresser, come to think of it.

So, naturally, I thought my battling blemish days were over. I swallowed my calcium and celebrated with a little happy dance, when wham! There rose my pimple again, in all its pink, swollen glory! Do you know how hard it is to find a combination acne medication/age spot lightener?

Now, I'm off to look for a concealer that doubles as a wrinkle filler. I expect it'll cost a fortune. But that's okay. I have not yet begun to fight!

Cathy C. Hall is a humor columnist and freelance writer lucky enough to live in Georgia. Her columns, essays and articles appear in magazines, anthologies, newspapers and e-zines. Oh, and she writes fiction, too. So if you've ever worked or lived with Cathy, or even said hello to her in the grocery store, you'll probably end up in her writing. Read where at Cathy C.'s Hall of Fame, cathychall.blogspot.com. Or visit her website at cathy-c-hall.com.

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