Laugh all you want, but I've just gotten up and this is NOT the face I went to bed with.
The face I went to bed with was ... not bad, really ... blond, blue eyed, lightly freckled fair skin, a few fine lines around the eyes, showing my age (just this side of death) a wee bit but not anything too hideous. Semi-pretty if you're drunk/and or blind.
THIS MORNING, however... my God. I look like Bela Lugosi post-mortem.
(note to self: apply moisturizer with a putty nice. paint all mirrors black. wear hoodies backward) (tell people I've just gotten out of surgery)
And, you gals know what I mean here. You spend about seventeen hours tweezing your eyebrows, chin, nose, forehead, throat, ear lobes, etc ... only to wake up the next day, all innocent and hopeful. ONLY to discover you have some weird, wiry industrial-strength 3-inch long hair sprouting from your eyebrow like a bungee cord for the forehead! WTH?!
It's bad enough you have to shave BOTH legs, pits, God knows what else, exfoliate, pumice, pluck, and so forth so you don't look like the freaking ape you really are.
Bad enough when you get older (insert doom-like background music OR Barry Manilow - whichever) and discover that the Fairies of Youth & Beauty have stolen your face overnight and crapped all over your pillow instead.
This is why many women find the idea of vampires so romantically fascinating. Immortality is our only hope to remain 'youthful' (can we say TWILIGHT, anyone?). When is the last time you've seen a female vampire looking like menopause just ran her over like estrogen roadkill?
P.S. if anyone under 45 is reading this, I hate you.
Just kidding. Maybe. mwha ha ha ha
Thank God I have freckles. For real. I figure if age spots consume my flesh like Kudzu on an Atlanta highway, I can always always just point to a spot and claim 'freckles'. I'm Irish. It might work.
Remember when you were all young and 'perky' and could just roll out of bed (your boobs rolled with you instead of dropping to the floor like a couple of dead cats), splash cold water in your face to give your skin that 'dewy' look, dash on a fingertip of lip gloss, shake your glossy thick head of hair once or twice, then bounce out the door like you had springs in your bikini briefs???? Me, neither.
God, I hate 'perky'.
Now that I am old and crabby, I've learned to be happy if I can actually PHYSICALLY get UP outta bed without the help of serious anti-inflammatories and a winch. I also learned that drooling while you sleep can be considered a natural moisturizer. And if I can find my bosom with the aid of a magnifying glass or divining rod, I am happy.
I don't much care if the stupid things bounce with me, I'm simply grateful one of them hasn't gravitated down to my knees and/or is sagging in the same direction as the other one. Hopefully, they will continue to hang there like two whipped puppies until the day I die.
Which brings us to death.
I really hope God loves me.
Or likes me some, maybe more than a garden slug.
I hope someday God will sit down and talk with me, and answer all the big questions dancing through my mind.
I have a lot of questions for Him/Her/It.
I want to know why I got hemorrhoids like cantaloupes when I gave birth ...
I want to know why He doesn't tell me the lottery numbers like I keep asking...
I want to know why He made me look more like Doris Day than Angelina Jolie ...
And I want to know WHY I am stuck here on this monkey planet with all these perky youngsters whose blatant goal in life is to cut me off in heavy traffic?
Now I gotta go DO something with this face. Like I've got time for that ;)