Coming of Age

August 26, 2009

Y’all, I saw it this morning, as I was applying eyeshadow. I had my hair pulled straight back from my face (too hot and humid for bangs) and I was carefully sweeping on eyeshadow (you must be careful when applying crazy colors. Such as green. I love being a fair-skinned redhead–I can rock me some zany eyeshadow) when I saw it. A wrinkle. Not just any wrinkle–I have plenty of small ones peppering my face–but a deep, pronounced wrinkle, a half-inch below my widow’s peak. A wrinkle from SQUINTING and making jillions of crazy faces over the last 27 years. A wrinkle that screamed: “Jackie! You are getting old! You should probably marry that man who puts up with you and have another baby rightquick before you turn into one of those mothers everyone judges because they are waaaaaaaaay too old to have small children! YOU’RE GETTING OOOOOOOOOLD!”

And then I locked myself in the bathroom and refused to come out.

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