The Dotage Diaries – The Gradual Decline

I am not entirely sure when your dotage officially begins.  I suppose it is a gradual process.  You start finding tell-tail signs around the house.   Opening your fridge door to find your confused but well fed cat suffering from a mild case of hyperthermia or when you start leaving your bunch of keys in the car door when you go shopping.

car-keys
  Don’t invite crime by encouraging strangers to take your car and walk into your home. 
Fortunately, on both occasions, I was shopping at Waitrose, the bastion of groceries for the middle classes, according to Michael McIntyre, so they were there when I got back.

There is nothing good about getting older.  Like memory loss.  I know all the answers to the Times 2 crossword this morning, but I just can’t remember them.  

Weight gain, I used to have a waist but it barely exists now and the wintry looking brittle strands of my hair that used to be blonde is the final insult.

grey
White blonde? No?
Some mornings I look in the mirror and find another blemish has appeared on my face over night.  Another age spot.  The colour of thinly spread Marmite they come in a variety of shapes.

age-spots-on-face-brown-spots
Marmite coloured manifestations
I have also had a few eruptions of a crispy consistency on my face.  I scratched the last one off.  It hasn’t come back, yet. I never suffered from an over population of blackheads or pus-filled pimples as a teenager, so I suppose I am paying the price now.  Other mornings I wake up and my joints seem to be swathed in invisible straight jackets.

I have no control over thse things, they just happen, but at least I am still in control of my bladder, except when I laugh hysterically.

leaky-bladder
It’s only when I laugh

 

 

 

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