Iory 1949

Saturday March 29^th was my 60^th birthday. Now I feel like a cross between Rip Van Winkle and the Ground Hog.  I am of half a mind to scurry back into my burrow and go back to sleep. I mean really, seeing one’s shadow is a big deal!

When I shake and shudder friends smugly say;

 “Consider the alternative.”

 Not exactly the repartee that commands a response.  I am, however, considering the alternatives and I don’t mean the Grim Reaper.

First off I dashed back to Dr. Feel-good who gave me my total body transplant to begin with. You will remember the spectacular results from my author’s picture on my book covers. And yes, judging from the numerous slobbering compliments I got from that display of hunkiness, I know we were all happy with the results (most especially myself).

Buuuuut, not being able to leave well enough alone, I went back to the good Doc for a touch up and he gave me a prescription of horse pills.

 “Take one at bedtime for the next 10 days and hope you survive the process.”

 Well, of course I did not hear his cautionary clause. Gleefully I dashed home and swallowed my first dose. My first mistake was not waiting till bedtime, in fact I crushed the little fucker in my trusty stone pestle, mixed the resulting powder with a slug of Bourbon, and swizzled the sauce right there and then - at 10:AM in the morning. Well, I woke up the next day at about 6M sprawled on the kitchen  floor with the most amazing feeling of youthful frivolity!

Needless to say I was thrilled to see the man in the mirror change from that stranger who had been hogging that reflective space for several long years now, transformed into the winsome youth whom all adored. Well maybe not everybody.

As the days progressed through the course of the prescription I changed from ballsy baritone to giggly squealing, until even I could see that enough was enough.

So now am sitting here with my Knob Creek bottle almost dry and wondering if it’s the booz or these chubby leggies that have me down for the count.

 

Iory 2009 

Does anyone have a rattle I can shake or an extra play-pen?

Two weeks ago before all the above took place, I thought of hiring a sex therapist to console my loss of youth. I got a number off the web for Mr. Wonderful and I gave him a buzz. Well the fucker wanted a thousand bucks!  In a tone of withering scorn, I asked,

 “What are you gonna do for a thousand bucks?”

 and he replied,

 “Shoot you to the moon.”

So I says,

 “Darling if I wanted to go to the moon I would call up the Naughty Astronautess.”

 and hung up.

 Now I know what Isadora Duncan and Lillie Langtry suffered after their blush of youth had dashed out the door.

Ten years ago when the half century gong sounded - I was looking for the exit doors. You’re supposed to be rich and famous at 50 - so I had to leave town. Mr. Leo, my Sainted husband, took pity on me, whisked me off to London, took me to the Ritz for lunch and even gave me a coffer full of jewels. I said,

 “Hotdigity!”

This year Mr. Leo gave me  a swell birthday party at Casa Romero, a gorgeous orchid and a nice card depicting a pretty nymph in a Fairy Circle. All strangely appropriate and absolutely charming. But I keep asking myself,

“Is charm enough?”

Ah well, Mama said there’d be days like this. So if all else fails - get a hair cut and shave off that ridiculous mustache! I sauntered over to the college barber cuz who the hell can afford a “stylist” these days? I told em,

“Luigi gimme a new do,”

He snipped away and created a whole new me.Then I went home and shaved the stash and while I was at it I shaved my balls too, always a tricky maneuver but the results make you look larger than life so, what the hey.

Now everyone I meet says,

 “What did you do to yourself? You look great, sorta younger.”

You’ll be happy to know it’s not me nuts they’re gazing at - I do have some restraint and modesty. But I take their meaning to be,

 “Darling you were looking like the wrath of God.”

At least I didn’t charge off to Venice and drool over Tadzio. I do have my dignity and my snuggle bunny hubby who apparently digs me like I am.