I have noticed a change in my behavior. It has not become alarming yet but it has caught my attention. I am skirting 61 years of age and think I am a normal person. Think being the operative word here. Now I am not sure how a 61 year old is supposed to act like as I have never been this age before. I just know what my Mom and other older women were like at that age, now I am nothing like them but they never wore blue jeans and tee shirts. Hell my Grandmother had lavender hair. Now in the age of comfort and high tech everything, we can color our hair, get botox injections, we can buy almost anything to make ourselves look younger. I have no desire to spend time nor money on such things, as it does not add any quality to my life what so ever. Thanks to my Dad I have male pattern baldness and what few hairs I have left I do not plan on aggravating them so they will fall out any soon than nature has planned for. I have been on the weight roller coaster up and down throughout my life and know that this latest downhill slide maybe mine final. At this point I am not worried. The girls are quick to tell me how drab, plain and old I look. This does not have any impact on me either. I ask them if I looked sexier would they love me more. I am who I am if you like me you will like me no matter how cute I am. Being odor free and a good person is much more conducive to having friends than what I look like. Now this has no impact on them as peer pressure trumps what Mom says any day of the week. I always like to throw a spin on this conversation by ending it with “would you like a hot Mama that dates and goes out on the weekends to have fun, or an old, ugly, grumpy one that takes you everywhere and makes sure your needs are met”?
With all of this I have now gotten two big dogs, one will be adopted but for the time he and the other is at my house and I learned that playing with them is not quite the same as playing with the Chinese Cresteds that run the place. They are both between 35 and 40 lbs. and when they jump on me and I am not prepared I get a close look at the placement of the laminate squares on my floor. I often end up on the floor wrestling with them; I must say I scream Uncle, way before they do, and sometimes three of four times. Sipan acts like he is eating corn and then applies just enough pressure to catch some flesh to pinch the ever loven hell out of me. Viringo thinks I am a chew toy or something, the more I fight back the rougher they get. Then before I know it I am acting like the big dog puppy that plays till he gets a big smack down lesson and quits the game with his tail between his legs and yipping all the way out of the play area. I don’t yip but I do scream and shout out profanity the whole time I am running. I have been smacked in the head and face. I am covered in bruises of all ages and colors hell, some are on top of each other. I have scratches up and down my arms and legs I had a big one across my forehead. It’s just as embarrassing to tell someone you got hit by your dogs, you still get the look of, ya right. The kids don’t want anyone to see me because they think they will get blamed for beating me. You wish! Before the new girl came we were going to try a skype call and the girls did not want me there. “Ma she will think we are bad people”. Now I love the dogs and end up at least once a day rough housing with them. I am sure I am instilling bad behavior in them and will hate myself later when I must correct the problem I started. I use to sit and look at my liver spots and worry how many I was getting. Who knew a couple of weeks with the big dogs and ya can’t even see them anymore.