Getting Old

Wrapping my hands around the warm mug of coffee, I focused on the cup sitting at the center of the table, filled with Hershey's kisses and a red balloon in the shape of a heart with Happy Birthday written on it.

It was all a lie. Everything my parents told me about getting older, including all the bullshit I read on social media. Lies! Rubbish! Trash! Just someone's take on how great it can be, when in reality, we are destined to learn the hard way what all those aches and pains mean, what stilted conversations mean, dead-end jobs, working to get by. It's an exhausting cycle that never seems to end.

Fifty years flew in the blink of an eye. Sure, they tell you to enjoy the little things, that you can't get them back, but they fail to tell you that all those daringly exciting things you did as a kid would come back and bite you. Like jumping off the AC unit outside while dancing to heavy metal, trying to mimic Van Halen, or riding your bike at top speed, only to jump off it thinking you could be a stunt woman if you honed this skill. All those little bumps, bruises, and breaks, well, they healed all right. And now they are kicking my butt as I wake up with sciatic pain coursing down my leg or my fingers and ankles aching with arthritis.

What I wouldn't give to go back to the eighties when I was a teen, wearing parachute pants and changing the button holes so the shirt looked off but oh so cool, and rethink those daredevil excursions on the bike. Trust me when I tell you I always tell my kids to prepare for this inevitable day. And keep Motrin on standby.



Prompt Words: Lie, button, balloon
Written for: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Word Count: 300