It always cracks me up when people suggest that I “must take care of myself” when I reveal my age. What does that even mean? It’s supposed to be a compliment, I’m aware, but I don’t jive well with it, and not just because it’s an awkward one in the first place. Sure, I take care of myself: I eat, sleep and poop – all of the things necessary for a pleasant life. 

Maybe it’s because I’m not offended at all by the idea of aging. I’m getting older and if the early bedtimes and involuntary farts don’t give it away, then I don’t know what will. (My love for oatmeal? My newfound adoration for nuts (teehee)? My bladder size, or at least my inability to stand still once it’s signaled that hey, lady, you’d better ruuuuun. Hot flashes? Aches & pains? Reading glasses?)

Secondly, based on the standards of today, I pretty much look my age anyway, People. I mean, I’m somewhere in between Blanch and J-Lo. While I’ve never shied away from Blanch’s sexual side, I sure as hell can’t swing on a pole like J-Lo. (And, hey, kudos to her- Get it, Guuurl.) Even so, 50 doesn’t look like it used to. 

Thirdly, it’s an outright lie. I’m terrible at taking care of myself. I’m the lady who eats one meal a day, complaining all along about how hungry she is. I “forget” to remove my makeup before I go to bed – not to mention all of the wrinkle creams and collagen concoctions I for sure could use. And up until recently, I didn’t exercise a lick. 

Now, for honesty’s sake, Ima admit that the workout I have recently started doing every morning is just five minutes long, and is aptly titled 5 Minute Daily Stretching Routine For Women Over 50. And this lady? She over 50, and she be stretching her fucking heart out, camel toe and all. Related: this is a time when those unexpected farts make a show…er, sound/smell. Gross. You’re welcome.  

In fact, pretty much the only self-care I partake in is self-love – yes, as in masturbation, and less frequently as I age. And, yes, flickin’ the bean is absolutely self care, and I don’t care much if anyone is offended by that. Truth is? A flood of “happiness hormones” are released at the onset of an orgasm, bringing about stress-reduction, relaxation, and bonding. And, hey, man, post-nut clarity? It’s a thing.

So, yeah, I guess I do take care of myself, although I doubt it has much to do with how I look. And while I guess I’m grateful for that weird little compliment, it’s never easy for me to answer. But going forward? I think I’ll just go with a simple yep, and steal away to do some mad AMSR. Because: Spine tingles, yummy.