Vanity Unwrapped

When I was young, I was told that I had great skin.  This was good, because I hardly ever used make-up until I was around 30.  People often thought I was younger than I was.  In fact, a cashier at a casino in Reno made me deliriously happy when she told me she almost carded me when in fact I had just turned 31. At 40, I still looked decent away from the fluorescent lights of work.  What evil creature invented that kind of lighting, anyway?

Somewhere in my 40's, I started using moisturizer.  I'd gone to a Mary Kay party and the hostess was talking about the importance of using it daily.  I'm not making it up when I say that I was only vaguely aware of things like moisturizer.  I figured it was part of the routine of women who spent gobs of money and time at spas and the like.  In short, I was clueless.  That wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  I wasn't focusing on how old I looked.  Weight is different matter, but that's a story for another day.

But as I near my 52nd birthday, I have become vain, vain, vain.  And it's all about the face.  In the last few years, wrinkles have gleefully taken up residence around my mouth and eyes.  Speaking of eyes, please don't look at the half moons under them.  There is not enough make-up in the world to hide the dark circles.  I could say they make for a more interesting face or that these imperfections are a small price to pay for the wisdom that comes with more than a half century of living.  Yeah, right.  For all my beliefs about the importance of the inner person, I want a nice looking package.  I'd never have cosmetic surgery.  But is there a department of youth I could sue over the sagging effects of gravity?