A Precious Thing Called Sleep

All about the joys of sleeping without a care and dishes that we don’t really any longer dare

- Mohua Chinappa

With age, advertisements claiming products for women to age gracefully, gets my attention more than the shoes that I used to lust after. The messages are that I must look divinely as a woman. I read all endorsements and marketing campaigns, targeting the older bolder women. Most tell us that women are strong, godly, motherly, blah blah. With so much bombardment, I automatically search for the invisible halo around my head, to my horror, all I find is thinning hair and tons of others things on my crown that need nourishment and care, except for the crown that companies claim that it must be there. Crooked but hanging precariously, to embody and look like the Queen on all occasions, good or bad.

The truth is that with ageing comes irregular periods and sleeplessness. An inability to tolerate bullshit. I feel like passing a napkin to the bullshitters and telling them to wipe clean as the bullshit is stinky and unsightly.

Also constantly to be told “you don’t look your age”. I retort, “thank you but I am my age. I am looking for the Botox and the fillers, the minute my skin demands it. I have earned the jab.” Most are frightened to say more. My looks say that no one can age shame me any longer.