A middle aged problem.

I can’t bend over. Sure, I’m in my late 50’s , but I’m only a few pounds overweight (no, really, only a few! ) Sure, I have arthritis. But not a lot. Not like my sister does... it’s not the problem...
Ok, so I don’t walk sixteen miles a day. I do not go to yoga or kung Fu or Ty whatever once a week. There’s no Pilates mat in my cupboard and anyways... according to my Doctor, none of those are apparently my problem.
It’s not because I wear a cinch belt as wide as Texas like I wore in the eighties. Nor is it because I wear a playtex girdle like the gals of my mom’s generation did that kept their backs ram rod straight.
Yep! You’ve got it! You’re a good guesser! You found me out!
It’s my hormones! My ‘middle aged spread.’ My bigger belly that makes all the pants in the world not fit! Makes me buy a long handled shoe horn from the dollar store to be able to slide my dressy shoes on. Makes me grunt and groan like a puppy just trying to lean down to pat the cat.

Middle...Now there’s a word that will diddle your brain....

Middle age
Middle man
Middle most
Middle school.
Middle management
Middle of the road

My middle is meddling with my feet: I can’t hardly reach them! Bah!