Getting older

You know you're getting older when one of your dear friends tells you she just had her first injection of Botox at the ripe old age of 33. No, I can't tell you who. Most of you probably don't know her. She a beautiful girl, always has been and perhaps that's why she panicked when she began living with a "crease" on her forehead. I was shocked but at the same time, I can empathize. I too miss the plumpness of my twenty-something skin. Surprisingly at ripe old age of 34, I don't have wrinkles or creases although I have noticed some "changes" in my body. But those changes come with a tradeoff I guess. I appreciate character, intelligence and wit much more than a hard body and rugged good looks. And I look for those who value the same. I went shopping the day after sharing drinks with my newly Botoxed old friend and realized how clueless I am when it comes to fashion and how conscious I have become when dressing this new body. I no longer look for those tops that draw attention to my growing waistline. I prefer to draw the eye upward to my throat. I recently read the book "I Don't Like My Neck" to which the author cleverly discusses the fears and angst of growing older. She quipped that she really wished she hadn't covered her neck at all when she was younger. She had a beautiful neck and now that she's in her 60s, she hates how the neck belies those face lifts, botox injections and other crafty plastic surgeon tricks. The neck always tells the truth and there's nothing you can do about it. I found that strangely liberating and a little scary too. May I grow old gracefully and even if I don't I want to have the courage to always dance on the beach in a bikini like no one's watching.