Our bodies might be temples, but mine is starting to look like it needs an archaeological dig.
I’m going to agree with Indiana Jones, “It’s not the years, honey. It’s the mileage.”
Sigh, it might also be the years.
Maybe it’s just that women need more upkeep…or we’re told we do.
Women spend an inordinate amount of time trying to remove hair from their bodies…and if we can’t remove it, then we need to curl it, cut it, dye it, straighten it, lengthen it, wax it, shave it, shape it, and give names to the shapes.
Men generally just want to hold onto every single hair they have, for as long as they can.
Women spend hours they’ll never get back trying to pick out just the right shade, tone, tint, texture that’s going to: smooth, cover, cleanse, conceal, reverse, resist, beautify, bronze, define, alter, prime, primp, plump – for the dry, normal, oily, sensitive, acne-prone, combination; all of which will then be removed.
Men leave the house, perhaps after brushing the precious hair they have left and hopefully their teeth.
Women will do everything short of selling their souls (and that might be up for consideration) to keep themselves looking young, including being injected, operated on, rituals, who knows?
Men age.
Women worry about every bit of food that passes their lips, weigh ourselves obsessively, worry about body fat, calories, diets. They will fast, cleanse, purge and look too often into the abyss (aka the full-length mirror).
Men eat.
Obviously these are generalizations, but why are there such differences between the sexes? Is it our brains? Bodies? Society? History? It should be about acceptance. Men and women aren’t that much different, except women usually get paid less and their products and services cost more.
We’re all human (well, most of us, there are exceptions), we should accept each other and work together.
In Raiders of the Lost Ark they should have said, we have top people working on it. Why? Because we may just be passing through history, but it doesn’t mean we have to keep reliving it.
My friend George (loved Curious George) was pure black except for a white bib and apron. George liked to sit on the front porch, even more on Halloween where he got maximum effect. He lost one half of an ear being out in the cold; we lived in Coniston, near Sudbury, it was very cold at times. In those days most cats were outdoor cats, this also led to us calling his name or saying, bad George which got a hearty laugh from my Grandfather because his brother, George lived right across the street.
Other cat friends?
Candace, regrettably insane; eventually needed little kitty pills to keep her calm (those were sooooo much fun to give her). My Mom let my Dadtake me to the SPCA to find a kitten. We were two big saps who came home with a tiny runt kitten who needed to be fed with an eye dropper for days and the SPCA said they would replace her when she passed away. I didn’t want her replaced, I loved her. Candace lived 17 years. I don’t think she had many other fans.
Note how we picked a cat to match the groovy 70s carpet and furniture.
We had Tanis (yes, my Raiders of the Lost Ark phase, which I’m sort of still in) who my Mom (the only one of the family who professes not to be a cat person), saved when someone threw it out of a car. We couldn’t keep her because of Candace, er, aforementioned krazy kitty. We found her a good home.
There was also Xena and Luna who were lovely. Luna had to find a new home because she decided she wanted to play with my son as a baby, just his head. And Xena, her sister had to find another home when I found out my son had Asthma.
No cats since.
If you do get a kitten or cat, please, adopt from an animal shelter or rescue; or family or friend.
Our extended family has had so many beautiful cats over the years, we don’t think of them as pets so much as companions.
They think of us as staff.
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