Changing faces.
Wrinkles, age spots, scars and broken thread veins now adorn my face. Gone are the thick eyebrows and blemish free tight-fitting skin.
I receive many messages from women who hate their changing face. Slowly melting whilst their hair invades the space below their hairline, leaving it ever thinner on top.
My eyebrows need a pencil, my skin needs a good foundation, a swipe of lipstick, a wave of the magic wand of mascara, a bit of blush and dab of highlighter and I’m ready for the day. Happy with the new face which has a little more skin each year. I’m certainly not complaining, I’ve had a lot of use out of this face, it’s had quite a lot of wear and tear!
Don’t you think it’s incredible how you can guess a person’s age so easily? Most will guess within 1 year or 2 a person’s age. That’s how I know it’s a natural process I cannot and will not fight. I’m not attempting to turn back a clock which is naturally and happily advancing forward, day by day, giving me more wonderful days on this earth.
My grandma wore floral dresses (never trousers), had soft silver hair, her eyes were a little cloudy, she was short, squidgy and a soft pillow when I needed somewhere to rest my head. I adored her, and I want to be like her. She had a marshmallow belly, bingo wing arms and wore an industrial strength bra – with a stash of a folded paper tissues tucked inside, always ready to wipe away a tear when needed.
She was perfect.
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