There ought to be a law somewhere about looking at oneself in the mirror after the age of 50.
Here in my seclusion, I have had the opportunity to gaze at my eyebrows, tweezers in hand, and try to undo the damage. Most of the hairs on my left side are white. I find this appalling because the brow on the other side of my face isn't white. Well, not completely.
So, as I am gazing with contempt for those errant brows, I realize that they aren't the problem.
Underneath my eyes, not where bags are, but on my cheekbones, I'm in trouble.
Whoa! Where did those weird puffy parts come from?
They disturb me to no end.
I slather on moisturizer every single day and yet, they persist.
Okay. I have to admit that I am old now.
I held on to being not old for a long time. People in bars or those I met for the first time often were amazed that I was as old as I said I was.
I have even had to produce my driver's license to prove my age...although not recently. But I don't get out that much, and certainly not to bars.
Anyway, I look old.
I feel old.
I am old.
Word of caution to all those lovely young chickies out there: You'd better enjoy your bodies and faces now because, in all too few years, you will be subject to what I face now.
No matter how hard you try to avoid it, you're going to get old.
So please enjoy your youthful appearance now, while you have it.
I could burst into song right about here, but I won't.
Getting old sucks, but it sure beats the alternative.