I Used To Be Pretty 

Ugh. I used to be pretty.” I mumble to myself in the mirror as I tweeze the stray hairs from between my eyebrows.  Like most women, my eyebrows are not naturally perfect.  In fact, I have a unabrow that I have been taking care of since junior high.  I really don’t care who knows because there are pictures of me floating around out there sporting big black thick caterpillars so I’m not fooling anybody.  In the nineties, it was all about the skinny brow.  I wore those too.  Back then I looked constantly surprised.  We all did.  It was a frightening time.  That’s where The Macarena lives.  I take my eyebrows seriously now.   I have left specific instructions with my partner as well as close friends that if I am ever hospitalized for any length of time, for the love of all things holy, please have someone come in and do my eyebrows.  Anyway, moving on, I used to be pretty.  I’m really noticing my age now when I look in the mirror. 

I have creases and lines around my darkened eyes that I try to hide with concealers and light eyeshadows.  I have noticeable lines around my mouth from laughing out loud and deep frown lines in my forehead from wincing in pain, and from saying “what in the actual fuck?” too often.  I have coarse gray hairs sprouting where my soft wavy auburn ones used to be. 

Things creak and snap and pop in a much older, much rounder version of a girl that used to dance with reckless abandon alone in her room to the B52s.  The girl who used to stay up all night finishing a Stephen King novel before she went to school now, at 43 holds that Stephen King book much farther away and prefers e readers because you can make the font large and these days, I’m all about less squinting.

I’m aging.  It seems to have snuck up on me somewhere between season 1 and season 7 of Game of Thrones.  

One night you’re washing your bar makeup off and when you splash your face and look up, it’s 20 years later and there’s some old broad standing where you once were with an “I’m too old for this shit” look on her face.  She thinks your music is too loud and that young people suck.  

I guess I’m not at that aging gracefully stage as there seems to be nothing graceful about it. Things drop, sag and hang and all the push up bras and Spanx in the world can’t hide the lie forever.  Why are my hips widening now?  The time for babies has passed.  It really seems like overkill.  

I’d like to conclude by saying something like, “oh but I am so much wiser.”  I am.   I’m wise to the fact that I’m looking and feeling haggard and old.  


This blog post brought to you by Queens of the Stone Age Villains.. On repeat. Thank God for Rock and Roll…

Live Humbly, Be Charitable, Tell Her She’s Pretty,

Sam
Sam Clattenburg

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