I’m all for aging. I have no problem with gray hair. In fact I’m happy when I see a strand emerge. Even though it won’t listen to me and come in the streak down the side of my hair that would hang against my cheek, I am still happy to see the silver. I’ve always liked silver and black hair. My hair isn’t black so it won’t look the same as my mother’s hair looked during this transition—the salt and pepper look, but it’s still pretty. I only have a few strands right now, but I know there will be more. Such is life.
I was looking in the mirror at myself the other day and I suddenly realized how people can become obsessed with the nip, tuck, lift, mindset. People still mistake me for the age of twelve on up to about sixteen. I think they may need glasses–all of them, but there are a lot of them so perhaps they can’t all have sight issues. Far too many people tend to ask me if I’m supposed to be driving the car. It’s like, yeah, I’ve been driving for a long time now—it’s legal don’t you know. I don’t see what they see. I look my age to me.
The other day, I started comparing the me now to the me when I was much younger. I sat at my vanity and placed the palm of my hands on both cheeks and pulled back just a little. Wow, smile line be gone—or at least made tighter. That must be what a cosmetic lift does. Hmm, my eyelashes used to be fuller. Never did I need eye makeup to define the lines of my eyes. So I checked out my eyes. The line is still just fine as it is but the lashes are not as long and full anymore.
I looked at my body. I’ve lost some weight and I workout a lot, but it’s not perfect. That must be what the nip and tuck would be for. Would I go in for a nip, tuck, lift? Probably not. Physically my body wouldn’t be able to handle it and I would most likely die on the table. I still have a lot of things I’d like to do before I go into the grave so it hardly seems worth it to take the risk.
I’m thinking cremation after death as it will save my family some money on trying to bury me, but if they did deny my wishes (of which I wouldn’t know about mind you since I’d be dead) I most certainly hope they would at least tell the mortician to give me a nip, tuck, lift that will send me into the grave a lot prettier than I came out of the womb.
Clearly it has been a weirdly contemplative week for me.
That’s all for this time. More Dish next week, same time, same place.