I pulled a hair from my chin recently. It was a first for me. While I was pulling this hair from my chin, I discovered a scary truth. I’m getting older. And the signs are beginning to show.
As I was pulling that chin hair, I made note of the other old age firsts I have experienced within the past month.
My hairdresser dyed my hair for the first time to cover a patch of grey near my right temple. Even though my head now looks quite hip, I know what it’s hiding underneath. And the bill! The bill to pay for a hip head made me cry worse than the patch of grey.
I made a trip to the lotion counter at my favorite box store. But instead of purchasing the basic smooth skin brand, I searched out the anti-aging one. It’s the brand that my favorite actresses are paid big bucks to display on their own skin. It’s the brand that promises multi-vitamins and deep cleansing and wrinkle reducing results.
My wrinkles are still there. I’m certain a few more popped up overnight on my forehead.
I ate candy out of my kids’ Halloween buckets. I’ve done this for years. I’ll snack on candy and tasty breads and full fat soup. And now my pants are tight. And I worry I won’t be able to eat several pieces of pecan pie this Thanksgiving, unless I hit the gym before and after the sweet treats, which makes the whole pie eating experience a lot less fun.
My husband and I attended a 40th birthday party. As I was sipping on a delightful cocktail and chatting with friends, I so vividly recalled my mom turning 40. I remembered the black balloons and the over the hill t-shirts and the jokes about the downhill slide. And now 40 no longer seems old.
I’ll be 33 in a few weeks, but we all know that isn’t old. This isn’t a column to complain about aging. Growing a year older is a lot better than the alternative. We all know this to be true. I enjoy being almost 33. I’m at an age where I’m starting to know what I truly want in life. I know time is too short to hang with people who drive me crazy. I know family is incredibly important. I’m at a financial stage that allows me to purchase name brand cereal and full priced boots and expensive creams that claim they reduce wrinkles if I so choose.
Almost 33 is a good age to be.
Here’s the tricky part. I’m cheap. I don’t want to spend money to cover up the aging process. I don’t want to dye my hair and slather my face with cream. But I don’t want to look older than my biological clock tells me, either. Mother Nature and I need to have a quick chat. It seems these things shouldn’t be happening quite yet. They happened to me all within a month’s time. Maybe you’re there, too?
I don’t have a revelation this week or even a feel good ending. All I have is the facts. Growing older is just a number; a state of mind. We are only as old as we feel. I know I’m young. I’m willing to bet, you’re pretty young, too.
But I could do without the side effects. And the chin hair! My grandma had chin hair. And so do I. But mine will never be seen. Bring it on Mother Nature. I’m not going down without a tweezer.