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I'd Rather Act My Shoe Size

I wake in the morning with a smile on my face. I stretch slowly and effortlessly, ready for a new day. Gracefully I put on my lovely, flowing chiffon robe and open the drapes to a beautiful sunrise.

That is my dream.

Instead, I turn off the clock radio only to find that I have a crick in my neck and a hitch in my git-a-long. Ow! My aching back! It's not the mattress, it's my body. Why, oh why, is my body acting it's age? I'd rather it acted it's shoe size.

While watching my children and their classmates at recess I realized that my body is misbehaving. I remember feeling good. I remember being fearless. I used to love being on a swing and jumping off, trying again and again to land farther than I had before. Now I'd be lucky if my hips even fit into a swing. I remember the game you would play with the sidewalk "Step on a crack and break your mother's back". Then it was only a game, now it feels oh-so-real.

I'm doing my exercises, I'm eating right. But things still hurt, dang it. People have told me "When you hit *grumble-mumble* age your body lets you know it". Well I don't want to know it! I want to live in blissful oblivion like my children. Oh, sweet youth.

Why is my body doing this to me? Why can't I climb my favorite cherry tree? Well, it's time to grab my heating pad. I think I'll look into buying stock in Aleve.

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