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Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the Columnists.com, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
Humorists.com
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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Old Stuff....
 


Old Stuff

When I looked in the mirror today, I seemed to be getting older and fatter. How can that be? After all, old age is something that happens to other people, not to me. The stiff joints and the aches are constant aggravations that keep insisting that Iím not as young as I used to be. 

Can it be that youth is something that eventually becomes obsolete? But Iíve always tried to fight the aging process, kicking and screaming Ė or should I say dieting and dreading?

Could it mean that Iím getting old when my kids start complaining about getting gray hair? How can my children be getting gray hair? It is only a few years ago that they were still at home, running inside sweaty and full of sand from the sandbox, putting sticky handprints on everything and forgetting to shut the refrigerator door. How can it be that my daughter says she found a gray hair yesterday and pulled it out? Oh my, it canít be that long ago!

I canít even remember the onslaught of my own gray hair. Of course, Iíve never liked my mousy mane and always tint my tresses to what the advertisements tell me is a more attractive hue. The years just keep going by while I stay exactly the same - at least that is what I thought. The makeup has become a bit more of a necessity and a bit less of a frivolous luxury, but I am rather glad that the oily skin problem became a dry skin problem. At least I donít have to worry about zits any more.

The fine print is more and more difficult to read and deciphering it is almost impossible regardless of how much I squint, unless I wear my eyeglasses. Why is the print on medicine bottles so small anyhow? There ought to be a law! Iím fighting this small print conspiracy for a while longer with contact lenses. But alas, Iím beginning to lose the reading glasses battle even with contacts. Iíve always had crummy eyesight, though, ever since I was a kid. It couldnít be old age, which is something that happens to other people.

It is probably the settled life and absence of activity that has caused my hips to widen and the food to settle in different places. I used to be able to eat anything I wanted without gaining an ounce, in fact, I was always on the thinnish side. Then one day, I looked down and saw them - thunder thighs! I donít understand. Why me? 

Other people seem not to be fighting obesity nearly as hard as I am. From the looks of the leftovers that come to the office in lunches on Monday morning, some people must spend all weekend frying chicken. Iím determined, however, not to be a member of the herds of baby elephants that get on the office elevator with their big behinds and big lunch bags.

In spite of watching my diet, the small, insignificant aches of younger years are becoming more accentuated, and I am always wondering what will start hurting next. Creams, pills, and vitamins have become a way of life. A certain amount of arthritis is a constant companion, though not a welcome one. 

Hormones keep away "the change" while I dread the day the doctor decides I am getting a bit too old for them. Hormones are the fountain of youth, the giver of smooth, elastic skin, the keeper of femininity, you know. It is not the loss of the ability to procreate that seems so dreadful. God knows, Iíve given my share to the population explosion already. Itís just that these creeping wrinkles must belong to someone else. Old age is something that happens to other people.

Iíve accumulated more possessions than I will ever use, and wonder why I ever wanted all this stuff anyhow. Yet, I keep hanging on to my "stuff," afraid to let go. 

I donít mind the birthdays that keep rolling by, even though I have quit acknowledging them. It is just that I used to be able to go shopping without becoming tired. Now my knees hurt and I want to go to the restroom. I believe I can hold back age a while longer with enough pills and makeup. 

Iím still almost positive that old age is something that happens to other people. I canít possibly be just like everyone else.


Copyright 2001 Sheila Moss
 
 



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