The other day I was headed out the door with the kids when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was like, “Whoa, nelly. Where do you think you’re going with no makeup on, Grandma?” Because, see, now that I’m an old fogey I don’t have the option of going out in just my face. So I made the kids stand by the door and wait while I ran up to my bathroom to throw on some concealer and mascara to wake things up a little bit. Know what I found when I got upstairs? I already had concealer and mascara on. It just wasn’t enough to disguise the terrible things that time, child rearing, and staying up late reading have done to my face. (Plus, I’m apparently getting senile.)
Kill. Me. Now.
The thing is I’m turning 31 this week. And, I don’t know, it just feels wrong. And waaaaaay older than 30. Like, maybe it’s time to start acting like a grownup or something? (You know, since I obviously look like one.)
And I don’t mean to be that cliched female bemoaning her lost youth, but… well, I do kind of feel like bemoaning sometimes.
But there are good things about getting older, right? Right? Like, maybe a little perspective?
I’ll keep you posted, young’uns.