Reflections from Wrinkles, Waistlines, and Wet Pants

In case you have not read my latest book, I thought I would provide you with some of the introduction....

Wrinkles, elastic waistbands, and peeing have taken over my life. The day of my 50th birthday was the biggest wake-up call yet. It was finally time to take a critical look at myself to determine what the hell had happened. My body had matured, but Mother Nature had cruelly switched me over to the express track. The speed with which I had aged had accelerated to an unbelievable momentum.
There is no turning back. Once I overtook that half-century marker, my body developed an iron will of its own, exacting revenge for all of the rampant abuse I had heaped upon it during my earlier years. Simple coughs and sneezes now may require changes in underwear. Gravity is the victor in the ongoing tug of war between my top and my bottom. My body weight has been forced to migrate from my northern hemisphere south to my equator. One fateful day, I viewed myself in the mirror and realized that I had morphed into a human Tinker Toy.
Meanwhile, the biggest stress of all is that the world expects us females to keep up with the latest styles on the Paris runways. My life message to women my age? Limp as far away from fashion as your Tinker Toy legs can carry you...
...Don't get me wrong. I admit that aging has not been a totally seamless transition for me. Every time I progress to a new decade, the U.S. Bureau of Age Reduction issues a retraction statement, the latest one being, "Fifty is the new thirty!" Wouldn't you know it? I had finally recovered from the indignities of my over-the-hill celebration, and here I was, thrust back down to the valley of youth again. When I thought at long last I was achieving my Golden Years, my life was rewound like a bad movie. How many times do I have to suffer through frickin' menopause?
I say it's about time that someone took a stand on all of this aging gracefully crap. Let's all leap into old age like the pioneers did, both feet square on the ground, by cracky! No more tiptoeing around exercising and eating tofu products. Let's set fire to all those piles of self-help books and read some juicy slutfest romance novels. Become the fuddy-duddy of your dreams.
If this sounds familiar, maybe, just maybe, you can relate to how I feel. Perhaps you too have a mismatched body, and an avid distaste for exercise. Yet, you have a great appreciation for hot paramedics, offset by an immature and socially unacceptable sense of humor. Keep in mind the Jeanne Kraus tenets of aging freely and without reservation...
Your outward body is showing signs of wear and tear. Big deal.
Inside, you are probably the same fool you always were.
The difference is now you don't have to care!

(This is a partial excerpt from the introduction.)