The Ageing Process

I have just make a rather uncomfortable discovery; I have become middle-aged.

I have no recollection of this process happening, it just sort of dawned on me as I was ironing. I was musing gently as the pile of crumpled clothing reduced and the pile of neatly-pressed laundy rose. I had just refilled the steam-iron and neatly laid out the next garment on the board that I have just treated myself to, when it hit me. I HATE IRONING. I skim through it as quickly as possible, doing the minimum amount to get everyone through the week.

But I had been browsing the Argos catalogue and spied this ironing board and thought, "Hmmm, I could do with a new one."

What the hell was I thinking of? Since when did houshold tasks cease being a necessary evil, and start being a rather pleasant pastime?

Oh dear. I have aged while no-one was looking (or maybe they were but were just too polite to say anything). I used to go straight to the Jewellery pages, then the Personal care, then the Furniture section. Now I go to the Garden Selections, the Household care, and the Net curtain options.

Actually, I've always quite liked Nets. When I was younger (oh how long ago that seems), they used to , on sunny days at least, with the sun shining through them, conceal the fact that the dusting hadn't been done. The more highly patterned, the better. Nowadays, they stop passers-by catching a glimpse of something unpleasant. Actually, if anyone did see anything, they'd probably just think that my ironing technique wasn't up to much.

I find too, that the little catalogues that fall out of the weekend supplements, and which I used to throw away, have some interesting items for sale. For instance, remember the elasticated shoes that all the old ladies seemed to wear? Once upon a time, I used to look and laugh at these pages thinking "How awful", but now I look and think, "They look comfortable." Maybe this is what getting older is all about - what makes me comfortable, rather than what looks good. Yes I like to think I look good, but now it's not at the expense of personal comfort. Big knickers that I once sniggered at in M&S now look easy to wear, and cover a multitude of sins. I can't think of anything worse than having my 'bits' cut into by a bit of cheesewire, and bikinis that resemble a cut-up handkerchief have been replaced by the swimsuits that resemble a tablecloth.

My jeans are of the 'stretch denim, classic cut' variety, when they used to be the kind that I couldn't even sit down in without cuting off my circulation.

Trainers, I'll be honest, have never been something I would pay a month's wages for. I like a certain style, but I refuse to pay more than £15 for a pair. I like the new vogue of paying as little as possible and bragging about it. I've always been years ahead on that one.

Another sign of my advancing years is the development of thinking 'what is wrong with the young people today?'. Something I used to swear to myself that I would never do. I used to hang around the shopping parade with my mates. We didn't drink, but we smoked, chatted, and watched the older lads drive their cars (second-hand Capris and Mark 2 Escorts), but we would have been horrified to think that we were, at best, an annoyance, at worse, threatening. Yet today I walk past groups of young people, who are usually doing the same as we did, with my heart in my mouth. And that's just my own kids. Seriously, tho', I have come to realise that we must have looked to our elders how these youngsters seem to me now. Which isn't a pleasant thought.

But is it part of the ageing process to think like this, or is it maturity? Because the two are not mutually exclusive. The saying that "Growing old is compulsory, growing up is not." was one that I'd hoped to live by, but it's not that easy. It could be that the pressure by the media to look forever young is overwhelming, but not always possible for non-celebrity and poorer members of the population. There comes a point when the beauty routine stops being a quick once-over with the cleansing pad, and starts taking up a good half-hour with cleanser, toner, moisturiser for the face, eye-cream, sun-screen and protective lip-balm. A quick go with the mascara wand and lip-gloss is replaced with foundation (and I need more of this than a high rise block of flats), concealer (a lot), highlighter, blusher, bronzer, non-crease eyeshadow(!), eyelash lengthener, eyelash curler, mascara, eyeliner, white eyeliner, lip-plumper, lip-liner, lipstick and gloss. And that's just to made me look the same age.

Body care routines that once took a few minutes after a shower now take so long, that it's almost time for the next shower. It feels like I'm running just to stay still.

At least I've discovered why women get more facial hair as they get older. It detracts from the wrinkles. I used to feel sorry for elderly ladies that had whiskery chins; now I find myself attacking my own with tweezers with alarmingly frequent regularity. And then there's the nasal hair that sprouted as soon as I turned 40. Why? What's it for? As far I can tell, there's no apparent use for it other than to add yet another place to patrol for depilatory requirements. My nose doesn't seem runnier than before, so I don't need it to stop unwanted leakage. I don't sneeze more or less frequently, and it's not something that can be styled to make it more attractive. So I'll have to invest in my own clippers instead of nicking my husband's.

I didn't used to think I looked bad for my age until I got my first pair of glasses.

I was still reeling from the shock of being told that my eyes were 7 years older than the rest of me, when I saw myself in the mirror for the first time with them on. What I saw looking back at me was a woman who looked a lot older than I thought I did. It was then that I discovered that the reason that I felt smug when I glanced at myself in the mirror and thought "not bad", was actually delusion; I just couldn't see properly. The wrinkles had been there all the time.

I used to think that candlelight was romantic; now I think it hides a multitude of sins. Flaws rarely show up in the glow, but are glaring under the fluorescent lighting that is in the store changing room.

Maybe it's a state of mind. In my head, where many strange things live, I'm still 18. I think the same things, I like the same things, I hate the same things, but somewhere along the way, common sense crept in.

Motherhood changed my priorities, but I had hoped that it wouldn't change the way I looked at life. But I had to instill sensible thinking into my kids, and somehow it instilled itself into me, too.

And other peoples attitudes towards me changed along the way. I was once "Miss" to shop assistants; now I'm "Madam". I get junk mail aimed at sensible sofa covers, savings plans (including funerals), thermal underwear, bingo, and plastic surgery. My son gets junk mail aimed at mobile phones, DVDs, extreme sports, and Club 18-30.

When I bought a new sofa years ago, throws were just coming into fashion. This year, when I bought a new suite, I actually went out to buy antimacassars and arm-covers. The same kind of thing my Grandmother had on all her chairs.

I'm not yet at the age where a sleeved overall and a tabard seem the way to go, but where I once washed up with the tap running and the liquid in a sponge pad, I now don a pair of rubber gloves and rinse everything before I fill the bowl with suds.

As a teenager, I changed my look almost as often as my underwear. My hair went through every style and colour that was available. Then I had my first child, and managability was the dictator. As the children grew up, I grew my hair and nails again, and, until recently not much changed. But now I find that I colour to cover grey instead of for a new look, and I've been considering a shorter cut; something more flattering (aarrggghh). Who said that older women can't wear their hair longer? Even if I do cut it it would be more Victoria Wood than Victoria Beckham.
Just who are the people that dictate what older women should and shouldn't wear? Young girls who can be heard slating the mutton dressed as lamb brigade? Yes they may have a point that overweight middle-aged ladies shouldn't wear skin-tight hipsters and crop-tops, but the look is equally as dreadful on the young ones who are overweight. And if you lose weight in your middle years, your face is likely to look older, more gaunt and wrinkled. When I lost weight last year, I felt brilliant, especially as I could fit into my jeans without looking as though they were several sizes too small, but I was mortified when people kept asking me if I was ill. I overheard someone tell my husband that I looked gaunt and drawn, 'Has she been poorly?' he was asked on several occasions.
Whatever the cause of this descent into the next stage, old age, (which I intend to enter as disgracefully as possible), I know one thing. I shall not laugh at those little catalogues any more. After all, those magnetic bracelets are rather a good idea.