When I was young, I sniffed and sneered at the idea of plastic surgery. Now that I’ve reached what is politely called “a certain age,” I’m not so sure. At 69, my jowls have headed south, and my neck waddle rivals a turkey. As a result, I’ve become plastic surgery curious. Very curious. Read more
It’s my 68th birthday. I’m not having a party, but I do have a few random thoughts on texting, cartoons, and not-so-complimentary compliments. Read more
Much like Scarlett O’Hara, I once took much pride in my tiny waist. But that was long ago. Now, more like Santa Claus, I have belly fat. But no belly laughs from me. More, oh, no, no than ho, ho, ho!
Yes, once, I was a lass with a classic hourglass figure, but time, Read more
When I was a child, my Uncle George would grab my cheeks so hard I thought he’d lift me off the ground.
“Such a shayna punim,” he’d exclaim with joy. (The term is Yiddish. It literally means “pretty face” but colloquially means what a pretty girl.)
“Yes!” my parents would reply with equal joy.
At 6, I hated Uncle George as I rubbed my aching cheeks, and I hated my parents for allowing this unwelcome greeting. Read more
It’s a subject of fierce debate among women (and men) of a certain age. To dye or not to dye gray hair. Me? I’m, of course, a die-hard dyer! Read more
Just one week into the New Year and I was already backsliding into bad habits faster than a first-time skier hitting the slopes.
Start that diet? Hard to do with all the holiday candy still casting its chocolaty come-hither glance at me.
Exercise? How, when I could hardly move from all that candy-gorging I’m doing 24/7?
Be a better person? Who was I kidding? That was never going to happen, sugar-rush or no sugar-rush.
So, just days into the New Year, I decided to drop the pretense. Skip the guilt. Avoid making – and breaking – those resolutions of yesteryears to eat less, exercise more, and be a better person. I decided to just hunker down and continue living in my usual slovenly, unhealthy, impatient way.
But then, I had an idea. Read more
‘Tis the season to over-indulge, true. But, alas, ’tis also the season to sequin, shimmy, and shake – all of which challenge chubby, out-of-shape, middle-aged me.
And while I can still wedge myself into my cute holiday clothes, do I look cute? Hardly. I more resemble that lump of coal Santa leaves children who have been naughty, not nice, than I do some hot party babe.
So, sadly I’m giving myself a Spanx-ing. Read more
Richard Nixon and I sadly have something in common. Jowls. I’ve tried to ignore the problem, but jowls and jawlines are in the news. So, what can I do?
Yes, regrettably, I – the anti-plastic surgery woman – am once again day-dreaming about plastic surgery. Read more
I’ve got religion! And like all religious zealots, I speak of nothing else. My new-found religion is not a traditional religion, nor is it New Age hippy, dippy. My new religion is my new diet. More specifically, it is my new-found diet success! Read more
Fall fashion season is here. The runways are overflowing with willowy models and haute couture commentary. So, who am I, admittedly un-chic, un-willowy, to offer my own runaway thoughts about fashion and style? Just a middle-aged muddling mom (MAMM) with a far-from-the-runway point-of-view! Read more