|Mr. DeMille...I am ready for my closeup...not really.|
I have been told by people that I do not look my age.
“I am 63…
“Oh surely not…you look about 55…really..no, 47?
And, I have been “hit on” by men not my husband or relative. They are in the upper senior level.
Here is the thing. I know I still hold onto that by a thin piece of fleshy fabric. I know that in a brief bit of time, I will get up, go to the bathroom mirror, and let go a silent scream.
I know that all cells in my body have probably formed a revolution, organizing through each inch of skin and fascia. They have whispered, “Okay—tomorrow, every one simply lets go and gives into gravity. Let'r all drop!”
I’ll let you know. It is just around a corner.
P.S. Migraines had become so severe that the only viable solution is having BOTOX injections--not on my face, (except one in each eye brow) however. Temples, various places in the scalp, down the back of neck, into the shoulders. Thirty-eight injections that are unimaginable in the pain factor.
Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful...
Not really. Go ahead...