on aging

I saw a photo of myself recently - a side-on of me smiling - and the lines around my mouth seemed to meet the crinkly lines from my eyes, drawing a circle around my face akin to those inside a tree trunk. An age line to count my years by.

Maybe it's short sighted of me (I believe that comes with age as well), but it so doesn't really bother me.

I've never been a `lotions and potions' kind of girl. I've bought one tub of anti-aging cream in my life - a panicked response to the first smile lines which appeared around my thirtieth birthday. I use a face cream with a SPF factor every day, but only because my skin feels tight and uncomfortable without it, not for any real hope of slowing the aging process.

I had my first facial a few months back. It was lovely, I really enjoyed the deep cleaning aspect of it, but after that I got a little bored with the host of creams and powders and 'deep tissue massage' thingies the therapist started applying to my face. Lying there with my eyes closed I was reminded of the scene in Love Actually where Rowan Atkinson's character is extravagantly wrapping the adulterous gift purchased by Alan Rickman.
How many more layers was this woman going to add to my face? A sprinkling of fairy dust maybe? A scoop of lavender? A cinnamon stick inserted in my nose?
At the end of the session she told me I should use a face cream with a higher aqua content, and suggested some complicated and radically expensive options. `Like aqueous cream?' I asked. She blanched.

I just can't get excited about that stuff.

And it's not like I've got particularly good genes in this department. I have wrinkles. I have bags under my eyes. I still get acne for gods sake.
But yet I can't bring myself to spend money on products to make me look younger (maybe I'm counting on the acne to do that ha ha ha).
I might be kicking myself in a few years time, but I reckon I'll take my chances.