When we are left alone with that most threatening instrument of self-doubt – a mirror – all sorts of ideas find their way into the consciousness of grown women. We begin to search our middle-aged reflection for the unlined and glowing complexion that was ours just a few years ago; the smooth, creaseless eyelids fringed with a sweep of lashes; the full and supple lips that framed our perfect, white, not-yet-Bordeaux-stained- coffee-ravaged teeth. Then we begin to wonder what would it be worth to regain that beauty . . .
SNAP OUT OF IT!
Most of us were never the svelte and sun-kissed beauties we dream we were in our rose-tinted memories. In fact, for most of us, the one image that frightens us more than our aging reflection is our senior picture! Seriously, how many of us of the red-hat-club demographic would want to go back to our “glory days?” (Badly) permed hair, Quiana nylon everything, acne, and Dr. School’s exercise sandals – I will keep my wrinkles, thank you.
When I think about the lengths to which some of my friends go to keep their faces from showing their life experience, sometimes I wonder whether I, too, should “have some work done.” It is always a very brief internal discussion that ends with the same resounding “No!”
I used to think it was because I was afraid of plastic surgery – I am – but I realize there is more to it than that. As I lose my youthful looks, I also lose my youthful pride and selfishness. It is far better to be a beautiful person, which, for me, has taken some life lessons – and those come with wrinkles. I do not look like a young woman, I look my age. As a matter of fact, I look pretty good for my age.