Forehead wrinkles wink non-stop at me in the mirror, but I don’t think they’re cute. The aging process has been doing its thing for years, but recently, it’s boring its initials in me.
How often am I looking at myself anyway? After a 10-minute face lotion, makeup, and brushing my hair routine, this thought calmed me. I can fight myself on my appearance all I want, but it won’t change anything, and I’m not looking at myself most of the day anyway.
I have a friend dealing with skin cancer surgeries currently. She has a blob on her face that doctors will use to replace areas they take out. Her appearance horrifies her, and she is uncertain of the result.
I will eventually find my older, sophisticated, aging lady groove. Today is not that day.
On second thought, I will get bangs at my future haircut to hide my forehead wrinkles. And then, when they’ve grown out in a year or two, I’ll have grown more accepting of my over-the-hill weathered look.
I’m so shocked at aging that I must have thought I’d be hot and young forever. What a dumb dumb.
Bangs, it is!