I'm How Old?

Yesterday I went to see my chiroprator again. He's a nice guy but I'm starting to think it's all a crock. This time he charged me $45 for less than a half hour and hardly did anything. He wants me to come back Monday to see how I'm doing. I wanted to say, "Can't you call me at home and ask how I'm doing? It'll save me another $45." I don't feel any better today than I did last Saturday. I'm doing my exercises, alternating hot and cold and walking around a little at a time, but I'm still in a lot of pain.

I thought my chiropractor was in his mid-fifties. He looks like one of my dad's cousins. When I asked if yoga or pilates would help strengthen by back when I'm better he said, "When you get to our age we need to exercise to keep flexible."

I'm sorry, our age? Does he actually think I'm in my mid-fifties?

I couldn't help myself. "Our age?" I asked. He looked at my chart. "Your're almost forty, and I'm forty-two. Not too far apart."

Right. I forget I'll be forty in a few months. Minus the back pain making me feel eighty, I consider myself around twenty-three. Sometimes twelve. I have noticed lately that people tell me I look in my late twenties, which I appreciate. But a year or two ago I was getting early to mid-twenties.

I really don't mind turning forty. In fact I'm looking forward to it. I don't feel old and luckily I don't look old. But I definitely don't like being compared to somebody I thought was fifty-five. Yikes.