Wrinkles, Revelations and Wedding Rings (well, I can dream…)
I am at a point where I can no longer deny that I am aging. My skin is no longer bouncy and elasticated. I find this a minor trauma. Ok, I find it a major trauma. There should be resuscitation paddles on standby.
My neck no longer resembles a neck. It looks like a combination of raw, wrinkled chicken skin and lard. My television, the internet, and every magazine I browse in the doctor or dentist’s waiting room, all suggest there are a million cures for this. I should be battling the signs of aging by buying twelve different creams containing anti-oxidants, enriched vitamins, and specialist oils. Using one in the morning, a different one at night, separate versions for the skin under my eyes, the skin on my legs, my hands, my stretch marks. I expect a quick Google search would reveal a particular cream is even available for my earlobes – it probably contains the tears of a new born unicorn or something.
Despite my trauma, I refuse to take out a loan in order to invest in such miracle products. I will not be conned and robbed by convoluted scientific claims – even if they are made by a celebrity who is 50 but looks 24. Who are they kidding with their inch-thick make-up, airbrushed arses and hand-picked stylists?
I appreciate this is an age-old debate. A tired argument. I spent many hours in my previous life as a boarding school housemistress trying to convince girls that they are normal. That no one looks the same. That we all have things about us that make us beautiful. And while I believe every word I told them, I still recognise my hypocrisy when I look in the mirror and assess if the wrinkles are more pronounced than last month. The problem is endemic.
Someone said something wonderful to me this week. A date actually. And I had an epiphany. We were laughing, often and heartily, and he suddenly chirped up that my company wasn’t doing his crow’s feet any favours. Then he stopped, considered what he had just said, and completely reversed his stance. “Actually,” he mused, “Shouldn’t we all be searching for people with pronounced crow’s feet and laughter lines? Surely these are the happiest people, those who laugh and smile the most, and therefore the ones you’d choose to be around.” Bam. What a revelation. He’s absolutely right. What a marvellous way of recognising someone’s inner beauty on the outside.
Whilst this doesn’t quite rectify the issues I have with my swiftly developing wattle, it has changed how I look at my face. In fact, I plan on actively cultivating certain wrinkles on my face and wearing them with pride. I’m also planning on convincing this man to marry me. Just the small matter of securing a second date first.
