The Old Hen
I’ve made a shocking discovery this week—I’m not a spring chicken anymore. I never think of myself as getting older, but this last week has taught me a valuable lesson. We lost power on Valentine’s Day, and my prince and I sat in our house, without power or heat, for 28 hours. Snuggling under the covers with the man of my dreams on Valentine’s Day by candlelight would have been a romantic adventure in youth, but now that I’m becoming an old hen, it wasn't that much fun. Let’s face it, things change when we get older.
First, lets talk about arthritis. Cold weather makes joints hurt, so it’s tricky getting comfortable in each other’s arms when the old lumbago flares up. What does the pain feel like? Try piercing your nipples and holding this yoga position for eight hours, and you’ll get the idea. And forget about “dancing under the sheets” when you and your significant other are both in pain. When old folks hurt, no one is thinking about Viagra. Our drug of choice is Motrin.
Then there’s the issue of taking medications in the dark. Yes, my prince and I take a variety of “old people” pills to keep us going, and they all look the same when the lights are out. As I get older, I must have a lot of light when I’m reading the small print on pill bottles. A pair of flashlight shoes would have come in handy. Fortunately, my prince and I worked as a team, and we took our medications without a hitch. My prince was very careful about taking his pills. No man wants to call poison control because he overdosed on his wife’s Premarin.
I’m glad the ordeal is over, and that we are settling back into our routine. My prince is at work, and I’m back at the computer blogging. The house is warm and life is good. There is an upside to getting older. I’m excused for being cranky when the hospital calls asking me to work on my day off. I mean, really, what can they expect from an irritable old woman who isn’t a spring chicken anymore?