Potato. Po-tah-to.

There comes a point in our lives when we literally stop and say, “Wait…….Whaaaat?”

You know, for example, when we hit that “middle age” and things start happening.  I am not sure if I am in denial or disbelief or…..or…..or…….naive?  Dumb? 

Like when did hair start growing on my toes?!  What IS that?  Hasn’t my body ever heard of EVOLUTION?  We are so far removed from the apes, why on EARTH would I need hair on my toes?  And it’s not on all of my toes (well, peach fuzz, I’ll give you that) but now, after a recent self-pedicure I realized that I obviously missed a spot shaving and I had giant big toe hair that had escaped the razor.  Eeew. 

Since we are on the topic of hair, what’s with the ONE, spirally, random, occasionally growing chin hair?!?  Is that the one ounce of testosterone I have in my body trying to mark its territory?  (Yes, we women have testosterone, albeit a teensy bit).  Seriously?  Of course, as soon as it breaks the surface of my skin I annihilate that sucker with tweezers (okay, it’s so short it takes me a while to get a good grasp to yank that sucker).  I remember my mother having chin hair and thought, “Ugh, how disgusting!”  Geesh.  Did I just announce to the world I have a single, lone, random chin hair?????? 

Let’s not even go down south.  Let’s just say the older we get, more maintenance is required in our grooming efforts; particularly when it’s 98 degrees and bathing suit weather.  I will NOT risk utter humiliation by an escaped pubic hair. Although, lately, the idea of Kate’s previously mentioned blogged about pantaloons is becoming more and more enticing. 

With the annual emergence of my pasty while New England legs, I’m realizing that I have more broken capillaries.  NO.  They are NOT spider veins.  And those are freckles and beauty marks…..NOT age spots.  But I cannot tell you what those white spots are….between the brown spots and white spots, I figure I’ll be a gorgeous cheetah by 60.  Those dimples on the backs of my legs – they don’t match my dimples on my face?

What do you mean I can’t wear a bikini at the beach this summer?  My stomach is even whiter than my pasty legs but it deserves some sunshine too?  What?  The flabalanche is socially unacceptable?  I would never snicker at anyone who had anything hanging over a bikini.  Never.  <snicker>.  And we all know social acceptance is an entirely different blog post.

I am not prepared to accept that as we age that certain things just sprout off our bodies.  I have never quite likened myself to a potato, sprouts and all…..but dang, doesn’t everyone appreciate a good potato?  (And now I’m off to shave my toes……).