I looked into the mirror this morning and saw my mom looking out at me. Someone replaced my knees with fifty year old creakers, and my chin has done something that looks like it is an extension of my neck.
A friend and I were talking about this today. I was mildly worrying that the new glasses with the bifocal lines were going to make me look old. Or something like that. She laughed. She said that if we asked someone in their twenties they would tell us. We are fifty-some. We are old. We may be attractive, nice looking but it comes with the rider For-a-woman-of-her-age.
I am no longer in a category that will ever be seen as "hot". Worrying about lines, grey hair, and the effect of gravity is pointless. I am a soup chicken no longer a tender young thing.
Then I went home to the Footless Man. He thinks and says that I am the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth, truly georgeous, and genuinely "hot" Last year he bought me a rhinstone spangled tank top, and keeps pointing out skirts that sit well above the knee as just what I should wear.
There are mirrors and mirrors. I think I will stop looking in the bathroom mirror so much, and spend more time looking in the Footless Man's eyes.
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