I’ve been thinking about aging a lot these days. Not just in terms of me aging but in terms of ageism in our society. I read this post today on a blog I read daily (except I’m a bit behind) and it struck a chord with me. See what YOU think.
“Doc, I need the name of a good plastic surgeon.”
She was dressed primly in a matching daffodil yellow sweater set and white pants. Her make-up was done fastidiously and as always she was properly accessorized with matching shoes and purse. Her jewelry was large enough to notice but not at all garish. Tasteful and classic.
Even when she had fallen and broken her arm on the patio when trying to clean the leaves from her pool because the pool boy had been late.
“My breast. Look…”
She flashed me. Sure enough, her left breast was gone.
Not really gone per se. Deflated.
“I’ll tell you what. This getting old is just terrible. One thing after another. Take my advice, Doc, don’t you ever get old…”
She shook her perfectly coifed head.
“So, you are wanting to have another implant?”
“You are ninety-three,” I…
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