Old Age Can Mean Freedom
I once fretted over things that no longer matter to me.
I can’t remember when I last plucked my eyebrows — they need it. But I’m not going to do it because it hurts, and my face with arched eyebrows isn’t going to look that different than it does now. I barely have any eyebrows, so that’s one pain that is over. I am free from yanking hair, roots, and all out of my face.
Old age shows, and there’s nothing we can do about it. So I’ve stopped fretting over trying to make the signs of my aging disappear. I’ve emptied my makeup drawer. Good foundation, no matter how good, still accentuates wrinkles. There are now whiskers on my chin, too, and I used to make sure I pulled out every one tediously. Now I just shave them off and go about my business. Does anyone want to feel my stubble? No? Well, then go on by.
One thing I can’t understand is why while the hair on my head is gray, my whiskers are still black — one of the great questions of life.
I bought a pair of pajamas I thought were a shorts set the other day. I put a bra on and donned my new shorts and tee shirt to go to the store. Ray looked at me funny. I said, “What?”
He said, “I think those are pajamas.”
