You know you're getting older when you're excited to find Gas-X® in the first-aid station at work.

I just finished watching the World Series last month and I still can't get over the fact that I'm older than most of the players. Of the few players on the field that are 40, I can't help but look at them and see a horse, ready to board the truck heading for the glue factory. (Which is silly. Of course, they have the option to go into broadcasting.) Despite the fact that I have no desire to be a professional athlete, it's still depressing to know I'm past my prime. Being a ballerina is out as well. Another cruel blow.

Something else I find rather disconcerting is that I’m older than my doctor. That’s just crazy. Until the day I turn eighty, I want my doctor to be at least 30 years older than I am. Now that we've charted that human genome, it's possible to have a 110-year-old doctor, isn't it?

When I was a child, adults seemed so bizarre to me. What must it be like to be up so high? You could actually reach things on the top shelf. That was magical to me. All of the best things were on the top shelf. My aunts and uncles seemed pretty ancient to me. But now I’m 40 and I have two nieces of my own. Allison’s five and Haley’s three. Do the math. Forty minus three equals ... uh, yeah. You get the idea. How incredibly old do they think I am? The only reason they love me now is that I get things off of the top shelf for them. But how long is that going to satisfy them? I try to dance silly and give them piggy back rides to create the illusion that I'm active. It has to be in short bursts though, because the arthritis in my lower back might kick in and I'll be stuck in the bent over position for the rest of the visit. I'd feel like the sick animal in the pack. You know, the one the others kill so it won't hold them back from hunting?

Aging makes me feel like a potato. Ever looked at a potato that sat somewhere too long? That's right. Things tend to grow out of it. The worst is when you go to brush a really long hair off of yourself and the horror sets in. IT'S ATTACHED!! I've taken five swipes at it and it's still there. You think to yourself, "Oh my god, how long has THAT been there and who else has seen it? Someone has to have noticed it by now. It's long enough not only to braid, I could make a hair sculpture out of it and still have some left over."

Speaking of hair, what happened to what used to be on my head? Apparently, it’s following my socks into the alternate dimension in my dryer. At certain angles I glimpse this pink thing I think might be my scalp. What's the point of growing unnecessary, extra hair everywhere else if it's going to start falling out of the one place you actually need it? If Hans Weimann could just perfect a chin to scalp hair graft, we’d be all set.

Of course, the good news is at forty, I'm reaching my sexual peak. But what good is that if all of my other peaks have started to fall into the valley? I've seen the personals ads. Not once have I ever seen one asking for a woman with excess skin on her upper arms.

I’m not quite sure what it means when your butt drops. That sounds serious to me. Am I supposed to pick it up? I certainly hope not. I’m not limber enough to reach around that far anymore.

One area where I actually lucked out is the skin on my face. There are two types of facial skin: Droopy and wrinkly. (The forgotten 8th and 9th dwarves.) My mother’s 65 and hardly has any wrinkles. Allow me a moment to gloat when I say that I don’t have any laugh lines. It's quite satisfying when the bouncers at bars look really surprised when they card me. Before you hate me too much though, I have to tell you that my dad has some pretty serious jowels. It’s a foregone conclusion that I’ll one day look like Alfred Hitchcock’s love child.

Of course, young looking skin may do me no good if I keep seeing gray hairs glistening in the sunlight. Avoiding windows will only work for so long. Should I color my hair? It’s such a minor thing to do to maintain the illusion of youth. If I were a man, I could opt to shave my head. Why is it when men have aging issues, all they have to do is shave something? Their head, their back, their ears.

Another thing I hate is ...... hmm, I seem to have lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?

I'd better write as many of these articles as possible now. From time to time I make myself laugh and I want to be sure I have plenty written before I lose bladder control. Am I the only one that does those kegel exercises every time they see a commercial for Depends®?

I find TV commercials very troubling in general. So many woman suffering from so many things and they all seem to look my age. Shouldn't TV be fun? How many times do I have to hear about denture cream and hot flashes? It's bad enough that I'm assaulted by bulemic twenty-year-olds on the cover of every magazine in the checkout aisle at the supermarket. Is no place a safe haven?

You know you're getting older when most of the medicine you kept on the shelf in your bathroom has somehow found its way into your purse. Okay, so carrying a painkiller is fine. Been doing it since high school. Great idea. Eye drops are reasonable too. I spend a lot of time in front of the computer. My eyes get dry. Gas reduction is covered. (Remember, it's in the first-aid station.) It started getting a little sad when I started carrying around the heating rub. That's bad. But I had to draw the line when I had a fleeting thought about removing items to make room for the Preparation H®. ENOUGH'S ENOUGH!

There's nothing sadder than trying to keep up with younger people. At work, I feel like Hugh Hefner. No matter how old I get, my co-workers all seem to still be twenty-two. Recently, I had lunch with one of the children and I mentioned that I had Pat Benatar hair in high school. She asked me who Pat Benatar was. Once she regained consciousness, I was kind enough to explain it to her. I have another co-worker who I'll call "Nicole". Her mother is a year younger than I am. How badly do you think I get picked on because of that one? (And that's just from her mother.)

Seriously though, age is just a state of mind. So what if I get an injury from rolling over too fast while trying to get out of bed? Once I get everything loosened up and the crunchy sounds stop when I walk, it's all good. I have a very young mind and that's the main thing. As for hanging out with twenty-year-olds, go for it. Maybe you'll see me out on that dance floor. Look for me. I'll be the one stuck in the permanent bent over position because I've just pulled a groin.

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© Beth Wiesemann. No portion of this article may be reproduced without the author's permission.