Getting Old

I know I am 47 years old, but I never knew how everyone else in the world would feel about that and guess what? I am officially very old. I think I am the oldest performer at this Comedy Festival in NZ.

All the young comics are so lovely but some of them do treat me as an elderly woman and this shocks me to the core.
For instance, I was chatting to one young guy and he was explaining how he has so much body hair that he has to wax it off as women find it off putting. I then added to this chit chat “I only occasionally shave my arm pits if they get really feral” to which he replied “Yes Janey, but you are really old, it doesn’t matter with you”

I sat there agog at this observation. What do I do now? Take off my make up and start NOT wearing a bra? Should I give up the long war against my grey roots? Will I just let my tufty hair become white and start knitting bootees for poor kids in Africa and gather cats on my lap?

I am now aware that my gentle flirting might be deemed creepy. Are young boys scared of the old lady who chats to them in late night comedy bars? Has all my sexuality drained out of my saggy body?

I am still fertile; I can bear kids if I want. I can scrub up quite well when I put in the effort.
I know I no longer get second glances from the hot boys, that stuff stopped in 1990, but surely I am not confined to the middle aged car boot sale set yet? There is life in this old dog.

How do I regain my female sexuality at 47 years old and still feel needed and wanted within?

I feel about 20 inside my head. I don’t see myself as an aged woman, when did this all happen?

All this is corrected in one giant leap, as husband still finds me incredibly attractive, but what happens when even he starts to see the old woman who creaks when she bends?

I am disconcerted and discombobulated today. I need a hug.