Spring. Rebirth. Fertility. Sexy sex. Run off into the forest and commune with nature with your bum in the wind.
It’s a grand holiday.
But as I age, after a year of Covid related health problems, I find I’m more inhibited (and that’s saying something, given that I was nearly volcanic rock before). I’m aware of more fat, more flab, more age spots. I jiggle where I was firm-ish. My belly is more Buddha and now I look like a potato wearing lingerie. I change as quickly as possible so my wife won’t see me naked and wonder what the hell Mrs Potato Head is doing in her house.
My wife, slightly older than me, has six pack abs and all kinds of muscle.
Lingerie potato, meet captain Marvel. How’s that for a romance novel?
What isn’t talked about a lot, it seems, is the crushing self esteem issues that come with being, (rather suddenly, I feel), middle aged. The rapid rise of grey hair everywhere , the snaps and cracks of joints just from getting up from the loo, the walking into a room and having no idea why… We joke about them, but do we talk seriously about the emotions that come with these changes?
My wife says I’m still sexy. This is solely my baggage and worries. I wonder if those of us with body issues ever become comfortable in our own skins? Or do we go to the grave in shirts too big so we don’t show any lumps, even in the coffin?