I was 36 years old, I left the post office and climbed into my car. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bright sunlight reflected in my car’s rearview mirror.
“What is that? A white hair? Way cool, now I know I’m not going to become blue haired or iron grey.” I put the car in drive and went home.
This was only the beginning. Having a white hair or two, I convinced myself was a badge of courage, a parenting job well done, and an exciting life.
One day, the rearview mirror showed me some lines around my eyes. Okay, I thought, with less enthusiasm, laugh lines are okay. A sort of denial clouded the mirror and I began using it as intended, to see what is behind me as I drive from point A to B and C and back again in a never ending loop between here and there.
A little hair color, some moisturizer and a positive mental attitude, would stave off the effects of time.
Then, one day, I heard about telomeres. They are like cotton balls at the end of our DNA strands that make cell division go right. Every time a cell is replaced, these telomeres are a tiny bit smaller, more ragged and imperfect. A copy of a copy of a copy, squared. This is as unacceptable as having bar tenders forget to card me. I suppose that is why I don’t drink.
Never fear. A few years back and many grey hairs after that first one showed itself outside the post office, I heard about this stuff that minimizes fine lines and wrinkles. I mean laugh lines, of course. And, I bought some.
The tiny and expensive tube instructed me to apply it to the nooks and crannies for the next six weeks and I would see a younger looking me. Every time I rubbed my face, these little dirty beads of calking came off of my dents and grooves.
Next, came the firming and filling lotions that are meant to be applied under the make-up. A primer, or an all over spackle. It firms and fills and takes years off a face. Look close and the fine print says results are not typical. I think that is a nice way of telling me, if it makes you feel better, use it.
If I had money, I could buy some technical intervention. I can actually pay someone to chemically burn the top layers of my skin away. I can get fillers or spackle injected inside my skin so it doesn’t roll up into little balls of dirt when I touch my face. There are brow lifts, complete with little nails up under my scalp to hold the lift in place. I can have my butt fat moved up to my face. It all sounds so intrusive.
I watch the commercials about age defying lotions, potions and make-up and resent the companies. I want to see a woman who has some age. I want to see a woman who hasn’t been in the professional make-up room for hours. I want to see a woman under regular lighting. I want the woman who applies the sparkly cartoon glimmers to be as real as I am. To qualify for a job advertizing these products I think the woman ought to have some divets and creases to fill in. I also wish toothpaste ads would show a person using toothpaste instead of a naked brush and computer generated brightness, but that is another topic for another post.
I stand in the make-up aisles and walk from end to end, looking for the miracle cure. Where is the jar of stuff that will make a mature, pasty white woman, living in Montana, look as good as her high school graduation photo? Suddenly, I recall, the photo, like all senior photos before and after, was retouched. Even that representation of youth was not real.
Okay, I admit it, I am losing the battle. Why not wear it with dignity? Why not have a good laugh when a child asks, “Why is she so little?” And the reply from his friend is, “It’s because she is so old.” Honestly? Dignity sucks. I do not want to look my age. I do not want to look washed out and hung out too long. I don’t want to watch the thirty year old model applying spackle and primer to her technically enhanced face while she sells me snake oil. But, I don’t want to give in either.
So, it is back to the stupid thing that caused this problem to begin with. Broad daylight and my rearview mirror. I think I will avoid both. Did you know, I am 25 years old? Frozen in time but not experience, until, of course, I pass a mirror.
Thanks for dropping by and return next time when I take on a new topic. What will it be?