Wine and Women

First things first. Hello, remember me?

Moving on. Old age is hitting me hard people! Barely a few days after my twenty *PEEP*th birthday, the signs are there for all to see. Health wise, it has been a roller coaster ride since the past few months.

Poisoned! Five of us, one reputed eat out. One person falls sick, and how. No prizes for guessing who that is. I shall spare you the details by summing it up in one sentence - "what goes in, immediately comes out". Nothing and I mean absolutely nothing was willing to stay inside. Eventually, I was on a diet of ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) only. Yes, ORS is what kids suffering from diarrhea are given. And non diabetic old people.

Broke Back mole hill - Remember the torture mistress from an old post of mine? Yes, the aerobics instructor. Oops, she did it again. Before you get any ideas, let me be clear. After much deliberation I decided to get back to aerobics again because a rolling 5'2" ball isn't a pretty sight for the eyes. But alas, that wasn't to be. Lady Hitler gave us such a heavy workout, which included weightlifting, my poor lazy back gave way. Result? Excruciating pain, which got worse over time and caused a mini black out too. I won't lie to you, the episode was scary.

Salt or Pepper? Sigh. Spotted my first gray hair. Well, kinda. It isn't exactly gray. It is really light brownish and has bits of gray towards the end. Like it's still deciding whether to come out or not. Great, a gay strand of gray. Again, hadn't I mentioned somewhere on this blog itself that I would be proud of my gray hair? Well, I am. Just in an...erm..protected manner right now. So lets tuck it under the other healthy bunch of hair for the time being, ok? Ok!

Short and sighted - As if the above weren't enough cause for misery, along came a visit to the eye doctor. It was long due. I had noticed the blurriness some time back but had kept procrastinating. She confirmed my worst fears - I needed an extra pair of eyes. I have never found glasses to be flattering and I still don't. Contact lenses? And me? Hell, no! I'll probably poke my own eyes out thanks to my clumsiness and stubby-fingerness. One look at my phone and you'll know why I should be crowned Ms. Butterfingers. That poor device is scratched more than a flea infested mongrel.

So there you have it, my sob story. I just hope that 30, far as it may be, is less cruel to me. But just in case, I think I should get a set of dentures made now itself.