Ask any little girl how old she is and its highly probable the answer will involve how old she’d like to be or is about to be. She’s never just six, she’s six and a half. My ten year old is constantly reminding me that she is soon to be eleven. Do you remember that feeling? Desperately wanting to be older? Dreaming about the freedom each milestone would bring.
As young women we proudly announce our age, sometimes even adding a couple of years, particularly if we think people will take us a little more seriously. I loved my twenties and remember being told by an older woman that my thirties were going to be even better, she was right, they were.
When I turned forty a couple of years ago I had a party to celebrate. The night was exactly as I’d hoped, old friends, lots of silliness, good music and a requirement for a greasy breakfast in the morning. When I looked around at others my age I realized there was a quiet smugness that came with getting older, a confidence that has you revisiting fashions, but this time you don’t do the bubble skirt. You’ve learnt from past experience and you know what you’re going to regret. When I looked at my girlfriends, many of which I’ve known since my teens, I realized how far we’d come, how much stronger we all seemed.
Of late though, I’ve wondered about the smugness. It feels like it’s being stolen, there’s a sinister element creeping in, a conversation that keeps popping up, whether its a quick coffee, a chance encounter in a car park or a dinner party. We’re all starting to talk about our faces.
I guess the first thing I noticed was my neck, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror I realized the skin was different, it was papery and thinner, I began plastering moisturizer on it, thinking it might be a temporary thing. It’s not.
At the traffic lights I looked in to my rear vision mirror and was forced to take a second look at my eyelids. How did that happen? I’m sure they didn’t look like that this morning? Did they just drop? I think it happened somewhere between the petrol station and the supermarket. I began to push my eyebrows upwards, I found the perfect pose, index finger lifting the eyebrow while my thumb pushed my cheek towards my ear. There, I don’t look stupid at all! Perfectly normal. Now I just needed to work out how to carry the groceries.
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