Flapping. It’s actually flapping. For real. That clapping sound I hear as I vigorously comb out my long, wet hair is not my husband applauding my de-tangling technique. No, it now appears that my upper arm flab has become so, well, flabby, that it swings freely and contacts my body with every motion of my arm. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.

Behold: yet another one of the indignities of old(er) age.

If you’re like me, you have now reached the stage of life when you have all the physical ailments and oddities that you used to make fun of about your mom or grandma. More pesky hairs on your chin rather than in your eyebrows? Check. Chicken-ish skin on the backs of your hands? Check. Unlovely varicose veins? Check. Saggy boobs*? Check. And on it goes. Yea, verily, I have had to repent of much.