NO DATES HERE, let me explain:

WARNING:  Some of the following content may be offensive to some readers – be advised.

During our Saturday evening, Yahtzee night, my sister was kind enough to explain to me exactly why we will never have dates again in our remaining years. Her views made me perform our most serious form of alcohol abuse: I had a mouthful of beer, and it shot out my nose.  Nasty!

There are so many things that go so wrong as we get older:

  • Weight gain
  • Sagging
  • Bagging
  • Wrinkles
  • Energy reduction

She was so nice to point out the not-so-obvious things that are the most significant reasons we will never have dates again, and it has nothing to do with those mentioned above.  (here is the warning part)

My sister loves more than her fair share amount of gaseous vegetables.  Now, I love some of them too, like cabbage, Brussel sprouts, broccoli; but I have never seen anyone else consume beans like her.  I am not talking the semi-safe green or string type; no, I am talking about the gotta-allota-gas ones. We decided this year to work harder at the weight loss thing.  No, it’s not for dates!  We decided that we were moving slower with a ton of more difficulties and that dropping a few pounds would help.  The whole idea should also support all my fake joints move better (a huge plus for me).  Thus the switch to pounds of more veggies.  Yes, pounds!

We never ever do anything halfway; we always jump in with both feet.  The veggie switch-up is causing a variety of internal combustion activities.  Her designation of No-Dates-Her’ers began with one of her most nasty farts.  She even has a fan in a window opened and running right behind her because she smokes.  This is, after all, her smoke room area in which we play our Friday and Saturday games.  With the open window with a running fan in it, most of her smoke and smells go right outside.  I sit on the opposite side of our gaming table and am usually unaffected by her multitude of odiferous expulsions.  That night was one of the rare exceptions.

Immediately after she expelled her gas, she followed up with a massive mouth explosion.  Yes, it was a burp, but not a normal one by a long shot.  The stench of her first explosive action actually defied the window fan and floated in my direction.  It hit me at the same time she began her second reaction to her gas buildup, then followed that up with a

“Guess I won’t get any dates tonight?”

She never fails to (swearing it is a subconscious movement) pull these types of stunts when I have just loaded my mouth with beer.  This time my reaction shot out my nose instead of making it down my throat =Alcohol Abuse! The rest of our evening became a non-stop laugh fest.

We declared that men would find us too intimidating because we can:

  • Out burp
  • Out fart
  • Out drink
  • Out weird stray hairs

To the best of our abilities, which is not saying anything nice, I guess? 

Getting older means that our bodies go through a mess of changes, many of which we never asked for or wanted.  My most significant “no dates here” item would be the stray hairs.  I HATE THEM!

I have a birthmark (OK, it’s a mole – Marilyn’s got nothing on me!), on my face, above my lip on the left side of my mouth.  While I was young, I considered it a beauty mark as several notable women in entertainment had one.  Even Cindy Crawford (yes, I threw her in here for the younger readers-if I have any.) has one, so why not me?  Well, now that I am over sixty, I know why.  It started a couple of years ago when I thought I had a stray lash on my left eye.  I rubbed, pulled, plucked, and pinched but could not get it away from my eye ( I wear contacts and an eyelash in your eve with them in is a nightmare). So I went to the bathroom mirror to finally corner the sucker only to realize it was not anywhere near my eye?  IT WAS A 1-INCH LONG HAIR PROTRUDING FROM MY BIRTHMARK – EEEEEKKKK!!!!
If any of you has heard the saying but not believed it:
“If you pull one hair, several will come back.”
IT’S TRUE!  Since that initial pulling, I have consciously checked my face several times a day.  I have also developed eyebrows that grow long enough to flip around and tickle my eyelashes.  I am of an ancestry descent that gives some of the women of the clan a light mustache.  I have always felt better doing guy things than girlie things, which may have helped my abnormality stay with me; however, I never agreed to the chin and/or jaw thingies! 
While reviewing my hairy-mole situation, I happened to notice a hair (thank God it was a light color) on my chin.  Silly me thought it was just a loose one that had fallen from my head – NOOOO -THAT SUCKER WAS ATTACHED AND ABOUT AN INCH LONG – WTF??!!??
To conclude: I have never been the Heavy Maintenance type of gal, but this just is not fair!  I was never a walk-in-the-room head-turning beauty, but I did look too bad (I thought).  Now I am afraid that when I go to pay for my groceries, the clerk will spot one of my elder-isms and burst out laughing.  Then I decided that it was all OK.  Once my initial shock was gone, I began laughing at my flaws.  This is what growing older means, and I view them as trophies.  I have had a hard life but an overall good life and deserve every burp, fart, stray hair, wrinkle, sag, bag, and whatever else happens to me. So they are my rights-of-passage, and if you will excuse me, now I must go to the bathroom and recheck my mole-hair.

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