Face It

I could talk about how much the Republican candidates freak me out or how I much I've been contemplating the meaning of the warmest winter on record or how I'm excited about the arrival of my new Jillian workout DVD or how classy Peyton Manning was as he was cut from his team, but I think it's more important we talk about my face.

Now that I am 49.75 years old, my face--as I lamented about just a blog or two ago ("Freeze Frame, 2/16/12)--has taken on a mind of its own:

My facial skin is now incredibly pliable, which can be quite entertaining, albeit in a disturbing way.  I think I can get ten to twelve inches of skin stretched away from my face, which is perfect for making faces to scare small children. I like to scare tiny tots, so I am all good with this development.


Speaking of small children, I think I've lost a few in my frowny brow.  It always looks like I'm serious or angry but I'm really not serious or angry at all.  It's just what my skin has done. I can thank my grandmother for these deep crevices. They are an inheritance of the maternal type.  I best check them every once in awhile to look for dogs, dust bunnies and Jimmy Hoffa hidden in there. I've heard botox will help me not look so stern but really? Wouldn't I rather have more Madonna tickets than get botulism shot into my face? I'll keep my grandmotherly gift and Madonna tickets, thank you.

Lest you think I've always had those frowny brows, here I am in younger years, frowny brow free:

My jolly jowls are developing in a most droopy, surprising way.   I noticed this on my friends before mine became apparent. Now, they are giving me little waves "hello" when I look in the mirror.  I think the jowls are my least favorite change, not that it matters how I rank the changes.

I'm not bringing facial hair into this discussion, so cool your jets.

I am not alone in this adventure....thankfully, most of my beloved friends understand my plight.  They too are experiencing the change of the middle age face. Technically, we are more than middle age, but that's how we roll in America.  We are middle age qualified.  (Some of us are already AARP qualified.  I am awaiting my invitation.)

The wife and I went to dinner last night with three of our most wonderful friends.  A great time was had by all.  Because we are all in the general vicinity age-wise, we are all enjoying the same age-related issues, including changes in our facial presentation.  We embrace it and laugh about it because we really are powerless over our skin and our crease lines have become unmanageable......unless, like I've said before, you are Madonna and can have plastic surgery.  None of us have the inkling or interest in such nonsense, so embrace our faces we shall do. 

We cannot fight gravity.  Or, so they tell me.  No wonder all those parts are going south (and east & west, in some cases).   Life would so suck if we didn't have gravity, so go with it.

I embrace my gravity-changed face but I'm not so sure I'll ever be able to embrace my wobbling triceps, though.

I am SO going to have to take video of that.  My triceps, not gravity. 

Here is one of my triceps in 1987:

Here is one of my triceps in 2011:

Okay, okay, so that's not my tricep. It's Madonna's tricep.  I'm fantasizing. It COULD be my tricep.  She's older than me, so she gives me and my triceps hope.  I don't think she's had tricep-enhancing surgery, so I am motivated: this is what I aspire to by the time I'm 50. POW! POW!

Hmmm.  I think I'll stop pulling the skin on my face and do a few push-ups.  

Ah, hell--I'm not gonna do a push up.  I'm gonna go eat another piece of chocolate and pretend I did the push-ups. Then I'm gonna go scare some small children.

Anyone seen the dogs lately?