I'm Not Me Anymore ...

Wrinkles. Do you have them and how bad are they? When I look in the mirror, the person looking back at me is someone I don't recognise. Who is this old lady with more wrinkles than a bloodhound? This can't be me - I want the old me back, the one with the smooth, unlined face who is still me inside. I don't want to be old - I don't feel old (well not much anyway) I want me face to reflect the me that feels young.
Where did the time go and where has she gone? Once not so very long ago it seems, the world was my oyster and anyone over thirty was over the hill. Each day was a thrill, each minute a moment to be lived and each second a lifetime.
What happened?

I remember reading an interview given by that Blonde Bombshell, that Saucy Sexpot - Mae West, who when asked her age, always answered, "Twenty-eight plus" What a great idea I thought. I'll give the same answer - it seemed so much better than saying, "Twenty-one" My mother was always twenty-one until one day I said, "Mum, you were twenty-one last year" to which she replied, "Oh, well I'm twenty-two now" I always thought it pretty silly for females to always pretend and say "21".
So Mae West's answer was much cleverer, the only problem was, I remember thinking, "Damn! I can't say that, I'm not 28 yet."

Twenty-eight was a long tine ago how I wish I still had the quandary of not having reached 28 yet.
What happened?

I don't remember where the years have gone, but the mirror, like the camera - never lies. Or does it? Looking in the looking glass I see someone who's beginning to sag a bit, gravity having done it's best not to hold back the tide, and everything like the leaning tower of Pisa.
What happened?

When did I suddenly become old?

 

Getting old is not for sissies - Bette Davies.