Who the Hell is That in the Mirror?

Several years ago I broke a tooth, and I was so freaked (truly alarmed) over breaking a tooth because my teeth were the only remaining part of my body that didn’t show any age!

When the hell does it all happen anyway? One day I look down at my hands–and they look like my mother’s! I mean, I can’t even wear eye shadow anymore because who can see it under  the fold? I do, however, revel over the fact that overall, I look younger than my age. But don’t get too close because those thoughts are easily dispelled.

There are little changes–not just the hands. The alligator skin. The silver hairs in my eyebrows and . . . . That crease in the neck that never tans. The engagement ring I can no longer wear. Ever so slight elephant knees . . .

OK, here’s the worst one: The Jowels. (And no, it’s not a resort destination. No one wants to go there!) Yeah, they’re modest but they’re there. I find myself doing online researches on the Lifestyle Lift or checking flights to Thailand! I guess a cheaper alternative would be to get a bob haircut that would cover “the offending area.”

Well, I suppose I could age gracefully–like Catherine Deneuve or Helen Mirren. But I am neither. I suppose I should be happy that I’m the same old me inside–and nothing’s wrong with that.

my reflection in the mirror

Quote of the Day for YOU:              Age is an issue of mind over matter.  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter. ~Mark Twain


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