A while back Man-Farmer and I were sitting around the dining rom able drinking our morning coffee on a quiet Sunday morning.
The television that sits on the piano was on.
We were waiting to watch CBS Sunday Morning. One of our favorite programs to watch each week. We normally don’t watch regular television anymore. We use Roku on our living room tv where we can add apps of our favorite channels and watch what we want, when we want. And there are very few commercials. Gigi can even watch herself on a big screen in her YouTube videos. Catch her channel if you can…Rainbow Pandas.
I’m off on a tangent.
The television in the kitchen is hooked up to an antennae. The basic rabbit ears of yesteryear.
We were waiting to watch our CBS, channel 3, show when an infomercial came on.
They were selling cream for your skin…Do You Have Crepey Skin?
We laughed out loud at that!
“What in the hell is crepey skin?” Man-Farmer shouted through laughter.
We only know of crepes…the amazing French, thin pancake that you can stuff with sweet stuff or even eat as a savory meal.
Crepey skin? The pictures they were presenting showed tissue paper skin on the back of women’s hands. This was, of course, an infomercial selling cream geared towards women. Men probably don’t really care if they have crepey skin. Aren’t most beauty products geared towards women? Well, I guess that was before the millennial generation. Now, everyone and their cousin needs to look fab 24/7.
Anyway, I digress…
We laughed for quite a while about the crepey skin show.
We laughed that people would buy a cream for such a problem.
And then I got into bed a few nights later and looked down.
Looked down at my hands resting on my chest and saw it.
I have crepey skin on the back of my hands.
How did this happen?!
I was laughing about this with my husband and then WHAM, there were my own crepey, tissue paper, crumpled hands staring back at me.
Really staring at me.
I was pulling at the skin and it was not taut at all. Just slippin’ around with no where important to go. And so dry looking. Like the desert.
I quickly leaned over and opened the top drawer of my bedside table where I retrieved a tube of whatever lotion was in there. I began to slather the backs of my hands.
Then putting my hands very close to my face, looking closely at them, putting them close to the light sitting on my table. Rubbing more lotion into them. Looking closer and closer.
Still dry. Still loose. Still crepey.
“What in the hell are you doing?” declared Man-Farmer who sleeps to my left in the bed.
I looked over and put my hands right up into his face…“LOOK!”
“What? Look at what?”
“My hands! Look at the back of my hands!”
He looked at my hand, and then looked at my face, and then blankly stared at me, just like a man who doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say would stare.
“I HAVE CREPEY HANDS!”
“Damn…” was his response.
“We were laughing about it just a few a days ago and it’s real! Crepey hands are real and I have them!”
I about died.
Then Man-Farmer looked at his hands.
He has a lot of sun spots on his hands. He rides his bicycle to work during the warm months, never wears gloves, never wears sunscreen on his hands, and it’s all starting to show.
We turned our heads towards one another, both of us laying prone on our backs in our shared bed and we both had frowns.
Frowns that we are old. We have crepey skin and sun spots. We have wrinkles and extra fat that won’t go away. We both need to take our glasses off to look at words up close. We creak and groan and have back pain and ugh…
We are in our mid-forties now. We have young kids. We had kids in our thirties and tried to live our life as much as we could before we added to our duo. Now we are a quad and while our kids DO keep us young…we ride roller coasters and hold swimming races in our pool with them, sometimes they will call us old.
Age is just a number, right?
I am going to be 47 next week. I guess I can try to forget the crepey skin on my hands.
Or I should get some of that infomercial cream, toot sweet!