I just read a comment on FaceBook, and my one good eye happened to wander on over to my profile photo. My reaction was good Gawd Awmighty, what the hell happened to my neck? Was I temporarily blinded or insane when I put that picture up?

I immediately grabbed a cigarette and chomped down so hard on the filter, I bit it off. My ever attentive and perceptive sister asked me what was wrong. I twisted the screen around and she's still laughing. I retreated to the bathroom and stood under the skylight with a large mirror.

The horror of looking down into a mirror presented itself in the form of a gasp so severe I thought I might choke on my own tongue. Not only was my wattle wobbling, but the loose skin around my ears enfolded my mouth. Yikes!

The ravages of age become apparent to us instantaneously, but these things don't just happen overnight. Apparently I had been walking around like this for several years without knowing it! I found myself wondering who had seen me over the last thirty years, and considered writing them all a note of explanation, saying I had been ill.

I decided its never too late to begin exercising, so I dug out the old leotards. Most of my actual exercising was done at this point. I got one leg of the leotard almost up, but while inserting the other real leg into the other leotard leg, I would lose balance. I sat down on the laundry basket, completed my task, and inadvertently scooped up an apron. The apron strings hanging out of my leotard were distracting.

Next, I squeezed myself into a sports bra. When I caught a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror, I was delighted with how my neck looked compared to the rest of me. Kind of like hammering a thumb to forget about your headache. I had some work to do. I

remembered some warm-up exercises from high school, and thought I might begin with those. A couple of jumping jacks had my heart racing like a school girl, but my Hummels were teetering, and I knocked a picture off a wall, so I calmed it down a bit with some leg lifts.

I used to be blessed with thin legs, but I had developed some inner thigh baggage, which kept slapping the floor unevenly and pinching me. I gave up on the extreme bottom half of me and directed my fervor midway to my buttocks. Don't ya just love that word? Buttocks. Butt---ocks. But—tocks. I read somewhere the buttocks were easily firmed up, but obviously this guru hadn't seen mine.

So, I stood in front of the mirror, feet apart, shoulders straight, and attempted to contract the muscles in my buttocks. Come to find out, I had no muscles in my buttocks strong enough to contract much of anything. I'd get one up an inch or two and it would drop like a Letterman joke. Taking my love handles with it., I might add. All that did was make me want to pee.

Concentrating on the arms, I began doing windmills Not being very coordinated, I managed to get one arm going at a good clip, but the other kept wanting to follow it. I almost lost an ear. I found one of those king sized rubber bands physical therapists love and attached it to my door for some strengthening exercises.

That was Ok until my sister opened the door, unhitching the giant elastic which snapped my shoulder out of whack and almost decapitated me. That's it for me. I happen to like my wattle.

To read more from this wattled writer click on the flag>>>>>>>