This is my new photo. My husband took it and loves the dark lighting which explains his self-portrait. Anyway, in this light, you can’t see all the gray hair. And, baby, it is ALL gray. (That’s not the bad news.) Actually, I love the gray hair.
Perhaps there is a period in a woman’s life where she doesn’t mind her age, doesn’t mind the gray hair. Perhaps. I’m going through that: I love being 53 and the unadorned, natural look. I can see how, when the next phase begins, when the sag overtakes the smile, maybe I’ll start dying the hair again and whining for a lower lift… but for now, it’s way cool.
I look kinda thin in this photo, which I also love. Haven’t lost the 25 pounds I aimed to (still not the bad news) but on the road. Like 5 pounds down the road, but still.
What you don’t know is that I’m sporting one of my world-class cold sores. You know, the ones that are so big, Hal names them, then asks if me ‘n Lester are going somewhere. God, he’s funny. Anyway, I Painted it out. Sadly, I can’t Paint it out in real life.
Um, that’s still not the bad news.
No. The bad news is that I also had to Paint out a whisker. Yeah. Seeing it was a shocker. The lighting managed to somehow pick up the whisker. Great. Whiskers on a woman defines the dark side of aging. No amount of vitamins or exercise will fix that. Only tweezers. It’s the ugly truth, but there it is. So, do me a favor. Whenever we meet, don’t get too close. And for God’s sake don’t mention this post.
The good news is that I’m married to a really smart guy. I know you are sick of hearing that, but yesterday he wrote an excellent article about the Fed and exactly why It – and the politicians who support It (basically all of them except Ron Paul) – are criminals. Good read.
And, if he sees a whisker, he has never said so. He knows, under no circumstance, would that ever be funny. Smart guy.