A Public Apology

I confess. You’ve disgusted me. I’ve hated you. I’ve criticized and nick-picked. I despised you. But now the time has come to make amends.

In honor of turning 50 I want to make a public apology to you me.

To my hair: I’m really sorry about all those perms in the 80s. I don’t know what I was thinking. I took you from silky and shiny to kinky and fried. I promise to never get another perm again, even if big hair makes a comeback.

To my skin: You’re looking pretty good in spite of all that baby oil and iodine and scheduling college classes around prime sun time. Pale is finally back in style and so are you… And face: thanks for not betraying my age by developing frown lines or wrinkles. Laugh lines: I’ve earned you and embrace you. Thanks for the memories.

Boobs: What can I say?

I never appreciated the bra-less days. If you were bigger I could have never had that freedom. Even though you’re not as perky you’re both still “hanging in there.” Sacrificing elasticity for a healthy and nourished baby girl was so worth the sag.

To my hands: You’ve always been my favorite. You’re pretty and amazing; my creative instrument. Thanks for allowing me to translate my thoughts into things.

Dear hips: Can we talk? You’ve been the brunt of my loathing; the “butt” of my jokes. Only lipo could change the shape that is your legacy. Speaking of which, Mom – sorry for blaming you for the hips. I should have considered that my legs, hands, collarbones and feet were also part of that package and far outweigh the hip thing. Hips, you enabled me to carry and birth a baby that weighed almost 9 pounds. You’re my power center. Hip, hip hooray!

To my vagina: I know you’re supposed to have hair. I’m sorry about all the times I’ve slathered on hot wax and yanked it out by the roots. I promise to be gentler from now on. You’re not much to look at from my vantage point but I’ve heard you’re beautiful. Thanks for all the orgasms too. Please keep them coming (no pun intended). Oh and to my balls – imaginary as you are. You’ve allowed me to stand up for what I believe, speak my mind, go for tricky golf shots and win that sexual discrimination lawsuit. Long may you swing.

Legs: Thanks for not having “kankles” and for helping me walk away from bad situations. Thanks for taking me around the world. Thanks for your tenacity. You look pretty good in those knock-me-down-shoes (sorry feet). I’ll never take mobility for granted. I promise to keep you young and hope you do the same.

Dear feet: If I can’t have a Barbie body, at least I can have Barbie feet. Sorry about all those blisters from wearing Candies and walking barefoot on hot asphalt. Oh and all those pedicures where they took a razor blade to your calluses? Never again.

Dear Leslie: I promise that for the next 50 years (if you let me have them) that I’ll appreciate your beauty and strength. I’ll get my yearly check-ups, use sunscreen (SPF 30 or higher) and laugh more. I’ll say yes when I mean yes and no when I mean no and I’ll quit putting things off. I’ll wear what I love and toss what I don’t. Use what I love, even all the things I’ve been saving for something but not sure what. I’ll get out the silver trays and use them for all the remote controls. Put everything in the dishwasher. That which survives stays, that which doesn’t gets pitched. Likewise the washing machine. I’ll start using the yards of fabric I’ve moved 6 times in the past 20 years for things I’ll enjoy and not be afraid of making mistakes. I’ll eat a piece of birthday cake, maybe two.

Fifty ain’t just nifty, it’s liberating. As an official “senior” I hereby decree my next half century the “WTF” years. It’s time to seize the moment girlfriends! Long live uppity women! Happy Birthday to me.