I’ve had to stop doing some of my favorite activities because of embarrassing and involuntary gestures. Tourettes Syndrome? No, but almost as bad. It’s that awful hangee down stuff on the back of my arms that flap when I move them even the slightest bit. It’s also referred to as bat wings but no matter what you call it, it’s not a pretty sight.
I had to give up my favorite pastime of attending auctions because of this problem. I’m a die hard auction fan, and the one who will stand outside all day long in the searing heat to bid on a $22.00 unimportant item that ends up being one of the last things sold. I’ll bundle up and brave freezing temperatures to stand all day and walk away with nothing because even though during the preliminary look I didn’t see anything in particular that caught my eye, something might pop up and I’d hate to miss it.
It is with a heavy heart that I walk away from auctions because I can no longer move my hand to scratch my nose, without that pesky flappy skin waving in the breeze and bidding on something utterly atrocious. I don’t need anymore rolls of screen to repair storm windows, thank you. I move my arm and suddenly I’m the owner of whatever is in that large box of useless stuff and to make matters worse, I turn and catch a glimpse of this albatross waving wildly at some stranger who is looking at me with that do I know you look on their face. I’m only adjusting my hat, for Pete’s sake! And who is Pete anyway?? I never did get that expression but I use it a lot, as you probably noticed.
Bat wings are embarrassing and paired with my hot flashes, covering my arms with long sleeves isn’t the answer. Besides, they manage to make their presence known even when covered with cloth so I’ve had to limit their outings.
I could have an Arm Lift (Brachioplasty) but then I’d look like this. 
I’m not sure what you’ve accomplished when you still can’t wear sleeveless garments because of the ugly scars in the armpit as well as the entire upper arm underside. I’d still have to keep my arms down. Frankly I’ll keep my bat wings and learn to love them and wear them proudly as a badge of midlife honor. (I tried very hard to say that with a straight face and conviction, but it didn’t happen.) Or, I’ll keep covering them and diligently reign them in as much as possible because it’s evident just wishing them away won’t cut it.
I wonder when this happened? I didn’t see it coming and I thought I was paying attention!
*No, that is not me in those pictures.
