elanamatic: The signs are all there.
Straining my neck, checking for lunchtime leftovers between my teeth in the bathroom at work. The lighting is flattering from far back but when I lean in close I see fine laugh lines crinkling around my eyes. I never noticed these in the mirror at home.
I bare my teeth. All clear.
Playing around with my hair, I attempt some kinda updo. Nope, it's not going to work today. Then I notice that one white hair, out in front, winking at me from my part.
I feel like I am only 17, only I'm not. I have been working full-time for seven years and married for nearly two. It's starting to show. The word poop still makes me laugh though.
I am more comfortable with myself than I have ever been. Healthier too. I hope I grow old gracefully, although, at heart I am a tough and would love to fight it every step of the way, but botox is icky.
I am so vain. I bet this journal is about me, baby.
