The Crone has learned two interesting but quite disturbing things this evening. The first is that it is surprisingly hard to take a picture of your own knees. Honestly, try it. The results are very bizarre and look most unkneelike when captured from above, or from the front, or from shin-height, pointing up. The Crone will be prepared to offer a handsome prize–a box of bandaids perhaps, or a kneeler for yard or church, or some cod liver oil to keep your joint well lubricated–for anyone who can send her a self-portrait of a knee that looks like a knee they would be proud to call their own.
The second lesson is that, in the case of middle-aged women, the difficulty of committing knees to film is just as well. The Crone was appalled to see her own doughy lower limbs digitally rendered and immediately wiped the record.
Which leads us to why the Crone was engaged in this exercise in the first place:
In her early years the Crone, as now, was something of a shut-in. A stranger to fresh air and outdoor exercise, she spent her days supine on the sofa, in the company of Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, or Little Women. Her more rumbustious brother and sister, on the other hand, were always pogoing on sticks, diving to save goals, or skidding to make a touchdown. At this time of year, their knees were always grass-stained, muddy and scabby, the result of various garden or playground misadventures. The Crone’s, famously, were not. You could have eaten your dinner off her pale and freckled patellae.
Today that changed. Coming in from watering her yard, the Crone’s crocs lost traction and she slipped and fell, ass over oxter in the flowerbed. The result: one muddy knee–a start after nearly 50 years of spotlessness above the shin. Unharmed, she quickly rose from amid the roses and hurried to get the camera, anxious to share the evidence with her siblings.
The Crone is prepared to publish the picture below, taken by pointing the camera at the mirror. This is, after all, the way the Crone sees her knees every day, albeit without half a bog attached, and so she has become reconciled to the sight. Be warned though, those of delicate sensibilities should not scroll further…