It’s tough, but I’ve managed to make peace with the growing crop of white hair on my head, with the fact that I’m ready for bed earlier and earlier, and that I need progressive lenses.
Hell, I’m even (almost) over the fact that my bras now require “age-defying lift.”
But every time I think I’ve settled in to this aging thing, I get another reminder that screams: “You’re Old.”
Today’s was a doozy.
I stopped at the cosmetics counter for a couple of basics, and quickly caught the attention of a lovely twentysomething makeup artist.
(I’m used to that; my ruddy complexion fairly screams “challenge is on” to makeup ladies.)
Anyway, she tried to upsell me with this and that deal, but I stuck to my guns: Just buying the two things I came in here for.
At the register, she added a third box to the bag over my objections. “It’s a sample of wrinkle repair. Try it and see what you think,” she said.
She said other stuff, but I stopped listening after wrinkle, preferring to plaster a smile on my face and muse over her deft use of liquid eyeliner while I waited for my credit card to be approved.
Back at home I found the box didn’t contain mere wrinkle repair, but “multi-wrinkle repair.” I’m to use it morning and night to make “fine lines appear instantly softened.
“The length and depth of wrinkles are visibly reduced and skin looks smoother and younger over time.”