Lines of time...
I’m thinking that it’s a momentous and unnerving event the day a girl buys her first anti-wrinkle cream. Girl? What am I saying…woman. Buying an expensive and possibly useless age-defying cream is one more step taken into that much sought-after womanhood. I’ve often wondered what makes a woman, well, a woman. Boobs? Check. Hips? Check. Boyfriends? Check. Broken heart? Check. Job? Check. Wrinkles? Not quite check.
Enter New Year’s Eve, this one night where everyone is supposed to have a great time and look their best. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one of those ‘new-year’s-is-so-overrated’ cynics; I was partying it up, holding my liquor like a woman should, dancing with everyone in the room and making out with a crush. All was well in my world and 2007 seemed to be settling in quite nicely. That was until the age thing came up.
I’m 26, loud and proud, and have looked 26 for the past 10 years or so. I got in to clubs at 14, bought alcohol and cigarettes freely, and have never ever been ID-ed. Finally, I thought I was settling into my look, my skin, my face. But BAM: on new year’s eve, a new friend told me I looked 5 years older than my youthful 29 year old sister (sorry DS!).
Yes I almost didn’t recover. I have no problem looking older than my age, but having someone think I was over 30 was a bit of a reality check. The stresses of my young life have definitely begun to show on my face, and so the sun had barely dawned on the second day of the new year that I was already out looking for anything that would keep my face together.
And right when I lay my hand on the little jar filled with genetically engineered and scientifically enhanced hope, I felt old. Not like a woman….just old.