Geology at Work

I was prepared for the wrinkles.

Well, ok, not actually. But I at least knew in my head they were coming, even if my heart assured me that as long as I drank lots of water and found just the right moisturizer, all would be well. (My heart lives in La La Land.)

The bumps, however. I had no idea about the bumps. And so, oh youthful reader, let me warn you: Age Bringeth Bumps.

I'm not talking about rolls here--yes, age brings rolls that spill over one's waistband and slurp over one's bra straps. But there again--one was warned.

I am talking bumps. Like the tiny bumps on the inside of my knees that are now spreading down my calves and migrating to my upper arms.  "The technical term for that is 'chicken skin,'" my doctor said. "So what do I do about it?" I asked. "Oh, put on moisturizer. It won't actually help, but that's what you do." She smiled brightly. She's young. But soon she will be old and bumpy. May she be afflicted with chicken skin.

The worst, though, are my bumpy feet. There is, for example, the bump on the joint of my second toe--remember back when we wrote with pencils in school? And your middle finger on your writing hand would get that lump on the top from holding your pencil? Just like that. And then there's the perfectly circular bump on my right foot, just at the base of the little toe--looks like someone inserted a little ball bearing in there. All of this culminates in the really big bumps bursting from the bones under the big toes, the harbingers of arthritis and old-lady afflictions like corns.

So here's my theory. It's about geology as much as biology. As crevasses and caverns cut their way through a plateau, they push out and upward elsewhere, producing cliffs and mountains.  With valleys come hills. With wrinkles come bumps. My body is a geological demonstration.