The first present I got for my forthcoming 60th birthday was a bracelet. It was bought for me by a man I met at a party. That’s a line I never thought I’d write!
Just for something to talk about I asked him about the ones he was wearing. I’d read somewhere that they can help with arthritis.
He said the arthritis in his hands had all but gone away since he started wearing them but that he liked the look of them anyway.
The one he bought me is from Sterlina Milano and I guess it might be copper or maybe magnetic. It’s one of those that doesn’t go all the way round the wrist that you clasp into shape.
Ever since this big 60 milestone appeared on my horizon I’ve had this vague notion about doing something a bit different, a bit out there, something visual that says ‘I’m not old!’.
A while back Me and Mrs Jones had talked about getting a tattoo, something which is so not me. Having said that I wouldn’t rule it out, we’d earmarked our annual August holiday to the south of France as when we’d get it done. I’m not sure what I’d have – words I think, perhaps something about freedom – or indeed where on my body I’d have it.
Piercing is another thing people do at key moments in their life. I know one person who had her belly button pierced when she turned 60. It was an urge, a statement I never really understood at the time though I do now.
There was a cool, older guy I met on holiday a few years ago who had one-ear pierced and I couldn’t help thinking how good it looked. Not for me though.
This man-bracelet ticks the box for now, a bit of statement, something new and different about me. I’ve never worn any jewellery, not even a wedding ring, as I find them irritating but I’ve got used to wearing my Fitbit so maybe I could cope with something on my other arm.
Maybe it makes more look a little more edgy, more manly, more dangerous – I can see Mrs Jones rolling her eyes as she reads this. She’s been worryingly non-committal about it so far.
I wore it a couple of days ago when I went to see my Dad. I was fully expecting him to call me, in his very non-PC way, “a great big puff” but he didn’t say a word, maybe he didn’t notice it.
I’ll try it out in a few other situations over the coming weeks and see what people say.
I can always say it’s for my arthritis if I detect a mocking tone.
Though perhaps the point is I shouldn’t care what people think.