Aching for beauty

I just realized that I am getting old. I no longer fancy wearing colorful plastic earrings and bangles. They look so "cheap" and so "trying hard" on me. I hoarded a handful five years ago during a trip in Bangkok. It used to be hip that time, to wear those plastic stuffs I mean. But not anymore, at least not on me.
Then there are my red Chucks that have been gathering dust in the shoe rack. I have attempted quite a few times to match these shoes with my outfit -- jeans, mini dress, shorts, skirts -- but the sneakers just look out of place like a hangnail sticking out from a chair. I bought my first and only pair four Christmases ago and even wore them to a friend's Christmas party. Now, I don't even want to try them on. Partly because molds have inhabited the footbed. Maybe I should start putting my old stuff in a balikbayan box and sell them to ukay-ukay shops. Same goes for my camouflage pants, ripped jeans, Bench towels (with my name embroidered on them), souvenir shirts (Gawd, I think I have one whole box of these), stockings, gloves, and beanies. The list goes on I might end up with just three pairs of clothes.
Soon, I won't be wearing jeans anymore. Don't you just hate old women trying to squeeze their fat arse in denim? The only person over 60 I know who can get away with such atrocity is Madame Ethel. But hey, she always gets away with anything.
Oh well...it's inevitable. And so are wrinkles, fine lines, sagging arms, big puson, athritis, rheumatism, menopause, and death. If there was any consolation, it's the fact that we will all end up in the same destination.