Waiting for Savasana

“Wow! You Don’t Look Forty!”

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No. No I don’t. I don’t look forty at all. It’s kind of crazy. I am forty. I have a great deal of white hair that I color regularly. I have a crease between my eybrows and another above the bridge of my nose but otherwise, my face is unlined. Not sure why other than that I stay out of the sun and I don’t smoke.
I look quite young. It’s nothing I’ve done really. I can’t control it.
I’m not exaggerating or bragging. It’s just the truth. As long as my hair is colored, I look about 28.
And yes, I still get carded on a regular basis. Last week, the girl helping my younger son in the toy store asked if I was his older sister.
Ok, yeah, I admit that sometimes looking young kind of rocks. Especially when turning 40 has been such a surprising struggle. It’s nice at times to hear I don’t look my age.
The thing is. I AM 40. I look 28 but most days I feel about 63.
I guess I could go with that old SNL character…what was his name? Fernando? And say it is better to look mahhvelous than to feel mahhvelous. I guess you could say that. But what is the point of looking mahhvelous when you feel like poop?
And did I mention that I am somewhat chubby?
What is the point of looking like a chubby teenager when you are forty?
And what is the point of looking like a chubby teenager when on the inside, you feel like you are 63 on a good day, 82 on a bad day? And not the charming 82. Not the peppy 82 you see running marathons. No…I don’t feel that kind of 82 at all.
I am not enjoying this season. I want more. I want different.

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