“I think I’m turning into a werewolf,” I told my dermatologist as I sat on the examining table in her office. There were posters on the wall and pamphlets for the treatment of wrinkles and fat, but nothing for werewolves.

“Why do you think that?” she said, peering at my pores. A thankless job if ever there was one.

I’m starting to grow hair, everywhere,” I told her.

“Do you howl at the moon at night?” she wondered.

“No.”

“Then I think you’re okay,” she replied.

I was surprised she took this news so lightly. When I hit my fifties, I wasn’t completely shocked when I sprouted a few chin hairs. I’d heard tales from other women about how aging could suddenly cause a plethora of unwanted bodily changes. But no one had ever mentioned things like sudden hair growth on my toe knuckles and wrinkles on my knees. I mean, who gets wrinkles on their knees besides elephants and rhinos? Maybe I wasn’t actually turning into a werewolf, I thought. Maybe I was turning into a Woolly Mammoth instead.

After I got home from the dermatologist, I called a friend who was the smartest person my age I knew who was not a certified specialist in anything but had an encyclopedic knowledge of every inane thing on the planet.

“I’m growing hair on my toes and I have wrinkled knees,” I told her.  “What the heck is going on?”

“You have kninkles?” she said.

“What?”

“Kninkles,” she repeated. “Knee wrinkles.”

“They really have a name for that?” I said.

“Sure. It’s a thing.”

“I don’t know why my dermatologist didn’t tell me about this,” I said.

“Well, it’s a Hollywood thing,” she replied. “Don’t worry. You can get treatment for that.” I shuddered to think how they could remove my knee wrinkles with anything other than a clothes iron.

“You’re the same age as me,” I said. “Do you have kninkles?”

“No,” she said. “I have cankles.”

“Is that a Hollywood thing, too?” I wondered.

“No,” she said. “It’s a retirement community thing.”

“There’s something to look forward to,” I replied.

“I also have a problem with my weenus,” she said.

“Excuse me? Your what?”

“My weenus. It’s the loose skin around your elbow. I have a lot of it.”

As we spoke, I realized somewhat comfortingly that I wasn’t alone with my aging issues. I also realized there were a lot of dumb body terms out there. But most importantly. I realized I could either fight an expensive and unwinnable fight to try to beat the clock, or I could accept these natural changes with acceptance and grace. There were a lot of women who looked gorgeous with their gray hair and smile lines. Not too many who looked great with beards, though.

“I think I can live with the kninkles,” I told her. “And I can pluck the chin hairs. But what about the hair on my toes?”

“That’s a Neanderthal thing,” she said. “Can’t help you there.”  

2020, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

If the Shoe Fits, Lose it!

     “Honey, have you seen my shoes?” asked my husband as he wandered around the living room, peering under the furniture.