New Wrinkles

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You wake up one day and realize you’re ten years older than you were the previous night. Beyond the initial shock, how does this development change your life plans?

 

I got up after a terrible night of restless sleep. I did my usual thing, going to the bathroom, a little tinkle, wash my face and hands, brush my hair. Wait, what’s this? I look deeper into the reflection staring back at me. Are there more  wrinkles?

Well of course there  are, I had them yesterday; but these look like craters. Did someone let the air out of my fat? I think they are deeper than ever. I turn and pick up my magnified mirror that I usually look at when I am looking for stray hairs or maybe pits of blackheads. I look at my entire face.

Yes, I look like the  woman in the moon. Forget the man in the moon, no man would have these laugh lines would they? I take my old stand-by bottle of lotion and pour a hefty amount into the palms of my hands.

I then slap it on my face like the guy on the Old Spice commercial. My eyes water as I think I did a little too firm  of the slap. I don’t feel that (aww) moment like the commercial. I curse myself for the power of my hands and begin to massage the lotion into my face.

Round and round I go, changing the shape of my eyes, cheeks and lips. Look ma, I can do tricks with my face. Think I should call the Ed Sullivan Show? The lotion disappears and I stand back and take another look.

Now all I see is a few smoother lines from where new wrinkles are beginning to appear; but other than that I have turned this face into a looking-glass. I go grab my shades and hurry and put them on , as the lights are bouncing off on my eyes. I do believe I see sparks.

Sitting down on the toilet seat, I jump immediately back up, realizing my butt had almost fallen through that big, dark hole from not closing the toilet lid, then sit back down. Sadly I look in my mirror again and to help myself become more depressed I start counting the deep lines. Ten more of them, ten long, deep earth worm-like creatures.

I can’t change them. I can’t Bewitch them away. I am going to have to look at these every time I look in the mirror. Well, I just won’t look in the mirror anymore. I don’t have to watch myself brush my hair or teeth.

But what about others? Won’t they notice? Of course they will. I could wear a mourning veil. This would help disguise my new face.  I am not going to cry, it may add salt to the injury so I have to slap that happy face back on and realize I can’t change everything in life, only some.

Standing back up, I put the mirror away, I turn the bathroom lights off, I walk out of the room. Mentally I am wondering how long it will be before I have to start using a cane. Will this disease of the wrinkles make its way down the rest of my body? Will my breasts begin to sag, will my skin over my knee-caps fold?

I brush away one tear that somehow managed to escape and walk to the coffee pot. Taking my cup I walk to my screened in back porch and have a seat on my lounge chair. I look out and hear the birds singing, see the nice green of my yard, and the flowers blooming. It then  hits me out of no where. Beauty is not skin deep, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. People will look at me with shock at first, but because they are so nice they won’t ask questions. Life will continue on, and nothing has really changed.