Murder, She Blogged

I have long held up my lack of gray hair as both lucky and proof that I am not yet old. However, I have realized that old age is not just in the color of one's hair.

The following are five signs that I am rapidly aging even though I refuse to accept it:

1. I abruptly ended a telephone conversation on Sunday night because I was excited that Masterpiece Mystery was starting on PBS.

2. My teeth are falling out of my head.

I was brushing the other day when I noticed a slight jagged edge on the bottom of my front tooth. After dreaming all night that Martha Raye was offering me Polident martinis, I went to the dentist and was informed that I had indeed cracked my tooth due to excessive grinding while sleeping. After a little bondage (or is it "bonding"?), my repaired tooth was sent home with instructions to not open beer bottles and to come in immediately if it decided to take a trip to Paris for the weekend and left me behind with a hole in my mouth. On a side note, I don't understand how I both snore and grind my teeth. You would think one would exclude the other! I guess I'm talented.

(I was reminded of a trip my family took to Florida a couple years ago, where the cap on my father's front tooth popped off. We called him "Farmer Jim," and when he laughed I swear it sounded like "Haw haw haw." We found it immensely funny, even if he didn't. In retrospect, in light of my recent scare, I am trying to have my sympathy. But I do not.)

3. I lose my glasses while I am wearing them.

4. The ringer on my iPhone is the theme song to "Murder, She Wrote."

This has more to do with my love for mystery shows, but I have secretly wanted to be Jessica Fletcher as long as I can remember. She's feisty! She's a successful writer! She solves crimes! Granted, all of her acquaintances die or are accused of murder, but she's always perfectly fine. So as long as I am Jessica Fletcher, and not Jessica Fletcher's friend, there should be no problem.

Jessica Fletcher and two friends/potential murder victims.

5. My family wants to take the car keys away from me because they think I am a terrible driver.

When I visit my parents, they offer to chauffeur me everywhere instead of letting me drive. I am well aware this is not because they are extremely magnanimous or because they are applying for a livery license and need to practice. I am easily lost, directionless, and drive about 20 miles per hour no matter where I am. I can’t merge onto highways, and I once took a detour through Morristown while going to Edison…from Princeton. For those of you who are unfamiliar, that would be like driving from Florida to New York via Maine. (It made sense at the time.)

So, even though I do not have gray hair or wrinkles, I think today is the day to buy that bottle of peroxide and find my local Botoxologist.

I want to be like Jessica Fletcher – not look like her!