I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and noticed some not so attractive bags under my eyes.
I stared in that mirror and the first thought that came to my mind was, “Ok, Ms. age gracefully, never consider plastic surgery, stop trying to chase your youth, I would NEVER… how do you like them bags?”
Not to brag, but I have – by no doing of my own – been fortunate to inherit the beautiful skin that both of my grandmothers sported well into their 80s. That coupled with an extra XX lbs on my ass, has left my 50-year-old punim relatively line and bag free(ish). But last night I was having some sinus and ear issues (no doubt from all the flying I witnessed at the movie, Up in the Air) and when I woke up it all settled in those not so endearing bags under said eyes. Luckily they started to disappear as the day wore on.
I was on the couch with my daughter and asked her to take a look at me and see if she noticed them. Then Gary came in the room. He was leaning over the coffee table innocently placing clementines in a bowl when I asked him. “Hon, do you notice bags and dark circles under my eyes?”
Poor thing. He stood there half bent over the table, frozen in time. I could hear the inner workings of his mind, “How in hell am I supposed to answer this friggin’ question?” This, my friends, falls into the proverbial ‘does my ass look fat in this…’ question. The way in which the husband answers this question will change the entire architecture of his day, if not his whole weekend. And he is fully aware of that fact. Luckily for him I had mercy on that poor terrified look on his face and started to laugh.
I am happy to report that the bags have ‘resolved’ but left in their wake is a new found terror that I am not as void of vanity as I once believed. And Gary, he is just happy he did not have to answer that question.
(oh, and of course that picture at the top of the post is not ME!)