My birthday is in 12 days. I haven’t been doing the normal countdown**, like I have in previous years. I’m not too excited. I’ll be 35. When I was little, 35 seemed so olllllld. I thought I’d be dead by now. You know how when you couldn’t fathom being older? Still, right now I can’t see myself getting to be 60 either.
In the last 35 years, I’ve lived so many lives. And I have wrinkles to show it. I wouldn’t mind getting older, if it weren’t for the wrinkles. I have prematurely aged skin, as my mother would say. I guess it’s from being out in the sun without sunscreen in my youth. We lived on the beach. Or, it could be too much partying during my time. Or, it could be from just simply not taking care of my skin – going to bed with make up on. I don’t know, I just don’t like it.
When I was in 6th grade, I used to hang out with these old ladies next door. They told me not to smile too much, because I was going to get wrinkles. In 6th grade they said that! So maybe they were right. Or maybe they set the precedent for having anxiety about wrinkles.
Either way, I have em. Deep lines on the sides of my eyes. A scowl crease above my nose. And lines on my forehead from raising my eyebrows.
I’ve invested in every kind of lotion and cream. I’ve bought things on the shopping network (I’m really that much of a sucker when it comes to wrinkles). But they are still there. Are they signs of wisdom? Or a pledge to my laughter? Or evidence that I haven’t treated my body like a temple? Or, am I just ollllld before my time?
Hey – at least I don’t have grey hair yet, that’s a plus!
**when I say “normal countdown, I mean a giddy verbal countdown to everyone I know.