As my 60s flew by, the rate of physical change escalated. Some metamorphoses were anticipated, like graying hair, wrinkles, and age spots. Some I noted with acceptance: tiring more quickly, achy body after strenuous work, and shape-shifting, as in waist disappearing and breasts sagging.
I say I noted with acceptance. That isn’t quite true about the breasts.
Mom bought my first brassiere when I was 12, a 36C. I was embarrassed and a little proud that I was the first of my friends to acquire that badge of feminine development. It fit poorly but as clueless as I was, I continued to buy that size into my 20s when a helpful department store employee insisted on fitting me with the proper bra for my shape. I left with a 32D underwire harness.
When sports bras appeared on the retail scene, I wondered why I would wear something that smashed my breasts into my chest and had to be girdle-tight to keep me contained. But I tried several brands. Theoretically, without the underwire, they should have been more comfortable. Rather than being supported from below, my shoulders would do the heavy lifting. In no time, painful throbbing spread across my entire upper back.
As larger-busted ladies can attest, these appendages are hardly ever a blessing. So, this morning, as I debated between the underwire or the girdle bra feeling grumpy about both, I realized that my intolerance for physical discomfort has grown proportionately with my age. That spurred me to contemplate other ways I’ve become less tolerant. Here’s my list. Maybe you can relate.
What I can no longer tolerate with any measure of grace:
Bras
I abhor them, although I also hate how my breasts flop around when unrestrained. There are no good answers here.
Noise
I’m best with silence or the peaceful sounds of nature. Too much loud music, loud talking, loud anything, and my fight or flight response gets activated.
Clutter
I have an almost obsessive need to organize disorder, straighten even a slightly crooked picture, and maintain a feeling of unencumbered spaciousness in my home. I have no such compulsions in the homes of others.
Dull or Stupid Movies
So many of them are these days. After a couple of minutes, if I start feeling itchy, I turn off the TV and pick up a book.
Self-Absorbed Individuals
I don’t need to associate with people who can only talk about themselves, rarely if ever ask questions of others, and pay no attention to any conversation that isn’t about them.
Bad Writing
If a story is worth telling, it deserves to be polished and spit-shined before it’s published.
Unruly Children or Pets
It’s not their fault, it’s the negligence of their handlers who allow their bad behavior to go unchecked.
Rudeness
If unprovoked, there’s no excuse for it.
Those are the biggies that make me grind my teeth.
So, back to this morning, when I was debating what form of torture to choose instead of opting to fly free – a package was due to arrive that required my signature. I would be scrutinized by another human and judged. I don’t mind being old, I just don’t want to be old AND floppy in the presence of strangers. So, I suited up.
Just now, a call came canceling that delivery. Hold on. Please excuse me while I shed my undergarment – this skintight lycra camisole with built-in bra – and free my bosom.
Ahhhhh! Sweet relief!
At some point, will I no longer care what others think? Will I ever get that old? Or that enlightened? Until then it’s, “Harness up, Sherry!”
Let’s Have a Conversation:
Do you find yourself more or less easily irritated now compared to when you were younger? What situations trigger your intolerance? How well do you tolerate physical discomfort?
