The Hot Clock 1

Time is ticking on my biological clock.  Not the one that has to do with diapers and sore nipples.  I’m talking about my hot clock.  At 47, its only a matter of time before I look in the mirror and see a friendly face that sort of resembles me in an oh so luke warm sort of way.  I’m not talking about beauty because I do believe people are beautiful from the inside out and age has nothing to do with that.  I’m talking down and dirty, sweaty heat.  And not the kind that has the word flash after it.  When I lived in Japan I barely looked in the mirror.  Well, that’s not really true but lets go with it for the purpose of this  blog entry.  Living in a metropolitan area of 35 million people where about 98% are Japanese gives you quite a license to, as they say, let yourself go.  In the four years I lived there I can honestly say I can’t remember any man on the street ever looking at me twice – unless you count the guy who pleasured himself on the beach and gave me quite a surprise.  And it’s not like the reason you get your hair colored or you go to the gym is so that you will get acknowledged on the street by a construction worker.  But trust me, if you lived in a society where no one was watching, well then, things start to unravel a little.  And a lot of that had to do with access.  I never found a place in Tokyo where they really knew how to give a good gaigin (foreign) haircut – or blonde highlights, or a facial where they actually did more then rub cream on your face – the Japanese aren’t fond of extraction.  And of course there were plenty of places to work out and exercise but there were even more places to eat really really good food.  And given the choice, I will always choose good food.  Always.  So, I came home with a bad dye job, 20 extra pounds, skin that had been ignored, and countless other things that I’m too shy to mention.  But there are no more excuses.  People are watching.  Mirrors don’t lie.  Time is running out…

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