Beauty is Fleeting

Aging is cruel to women. There are those occasional women who get more beautiful with age, but alas, I am not so foolish as to believe I belong in that category.

Last night I found myself on the rare trip to Wal-Mart. I was on the baking goods aisle when I spotted what I first thought were two teenage girls. They had their backs to me. One was wearing jeans, the other a dress. I noticed something seemed not quite right because the girl in the dress was wearing those really super thick hose, the kind the drill team girls used to wear. She was wearing them with open-toe shoes, but I digress.

Anyway, she turned around and VOILA! It's not a teenager but a woman probably, at best, in her late 30's (mother of the teen wearing jeans). She'd clearly had some breast work done, as I saw about 65% of her curves in the low cut neckline.

I'm the type who will ogle like a 14 year-old boy, so I had to force myself to avert my eyes. The poor men around me were really sweating! Part of me was in awe because, honestly, I envied her look if only for her ability to defy gravity. Gravity has never been a friend of mine; thank you Sir Isaac Newton. But it made me sad, too. It was like she was trying to look as young as her daughter. Yet in doing so, she only made herself look older.

But I get it. Every year, it takes a little more makeup, a little more hair color and a LOT more underwear to just maintain my look. Meanwhile, my husband can be seven years older, gain a little weight and sport a head full of gray hair but he becomes more attractive. Especially if he puts on a suit. No spanx for him.

Maybe I am shallow, but to be perfectly honest, this makes me unbelievably sad.

A Year of Silence

Every few weeks or so I think, "I should blog about that." And then I don't. Weeks turn into months and here we are almost a year later. Wow.

So, where have I been in 2010? Let's see, having a mid life crisis takes quite a bit of time. Unfortunately, it's only lead to lots of questioning inside my head instead of manifesting itself in a little fast sports car. Were it only that simple.

Alas, I'm going to try to start writing again. I feel like I am heard when I write - even if no one reads it.