Okay, I’ve come to grips with the onslaught of gravity on my formerly taut face and body. Once something goes south, it generally doesn’t return on its own. As for the creases around my mouth that appear to have taken up permanent residence, I often refer to them as “laugh lines” because that sounds ever so much better than that ugly word - “wrinkles.” I’ve also learned to cope with a trick knee that locks up at the worst possible times, causing excruciating pain. “Yes,” I tell myself, “it’s all part of getting older, and look how graciously I’m accepting it!” I even tolerate finding the odd hair growing in places where hair doesn’t belong. I just quickly grab the tweezers and pretend it never happened. But I am being pushed…yes, I am being pushed!
I’ve always had an age spot or two… or twelve on my chest, an inevitable result of youthful folly. Oh the hours I spent on my beach towel, transistor radio blaring, while my body basted in the sun! If only I knew then what I know now. But my point is, a few are okay. But it seems that lately a battalion of age spots have landed and each night, one or two surreptitiously work their way onto the target (me) like little soldiers working undercover. GIVE ME A BREAK!
I’ve always had a huge age spot, Big Sammy, right under my collarbone. When I was younger, it really bothered me because it showed when I wore certain tops. However, it wasn’t until some older female relative asked, “What is that? A liver spot?” that I became truly mortified. Back then, I was just a sweet young thing, with but one goal – to banish that damned ugly spot from my chest! Enter Porcelana! I had seen the commercials and just knew that this stuff would be the answer to my prayers. I purchased a jar and used it religiously night and day for like…years. And nada. No fading. No diminishing of darkness. No result at all. Big Sammy was invincible. Sometimes I’ve been tempted to just draw a smiley face on him and be done with it. I’ve actually become accustomed to him. But then, the other night, I was at the mirror washing my face, when I noticed that Sammy had invited a host of friends to join him on my decolletage. Where did they come from? How long have they been there? Add to them the odd assortment of others I have on my arms and legs, and I’m beginning to feel like the incredible Polka-dotted Woman!
But no, I’m not going to have a hissy fit. I’m not going to dissolve into tears of self-pity. We ALL get older. I must look on the bright side. Let’s see. Oh yes, when I get a few more little…let’s call them sun spots, I’ll have a party. I’ll hand out magic markers and we can all play “connect the dots.” Won’t that be fun? I thought you’d think so.
But just you wait, your turn is coming…