How dare Mick Jagger have the nerve to sing this line at the ripe old age of 22. Did he think he wouldn't make it to 23? Considering his life style, it was a possibility. However, he is still rocking at 68, and people are still paying to see him do it. At 46, I'm starting to feel that "drag". I'm not needing the "Mother's Little Helper" as the song indicates, in the form of pills. However, this mother has found a few much needed "helpers" along the way to guide me through the journey of life.
For starters, all I have to do in the morning is look in the mirror to realize that I'm not exactly who I was at 22. I mean, 22 Mick ... 22 ... really? At 22, my biggest problem of the day was deciding what cute outfit would look the best, not which one would hide my stomach the best. Cuteness is an added bonus at this point in my life. But then I don't want to look "too cute", or like I'm trying "too hard". We all know those women, and swear will never be one -- fake tan, overly Botoxed, clothes from Forever 21. Then, 22 turns into 32, into 42, to "of a certain age, too."
Where is the line? What is the difference in aging, aging gracefully and looking like an urban scarecrow?
In the next few postings, I'm going to write about a few of my "helpers." I'm going to admit to them, and what I do about them. Don't be afraid, I won't use the names of any of my friends in these postings. You're all safe. Trust me, everyone believes you naturally look that way ... they do, really, don't worry.
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