Thirty-one Days to Fifty-Day Four: Beauty, For Experts Only!
Reposting of an original 31 day blog series revealing my neurotic, self analysis and anxiety over turning fifty.
The women in my family are beautiful. This includes my grandmother, my mother, her two sisters, their daughters and grand daughters. If I had a dime for every time I heard, “Wow! Your mother is gorgeous!”, I would be a rich woman today.
I take pride in the fact that my mom is a beauty. But when she is so beautiful that you start competing with her, that’s when I have to take a step back and say, “Really Mom? Is it necessary that the clouds have to part and the sun needs to gleam down on your shiny smile? And the cherubs? Really?!”
The cherubs floating above playing their tiny harps was starting to get annoying.
It’s sickening really. But only because I didn’t get the big smile.. I got the crooked one, as well as my great grandmothers cankles. My little sister got the big smile and tiny ankles. And a car.
Coming from a great gene pool has it’s advantages. Based on the fact that my earlier reckless lifestyle burned a few brain cells, I’m surprised I don’t look older…than fifty. (I’m certain I look fifty, but not older, not a day older!)
However, my mother doesn’t look too much older either, and if you do the math, you’ll discover that she didn’t have me in her teens.
Oh how she loves the comparisons too. Some time ago, when I was much younger, let’s say early 30’s and my mom was just over fifty, we were walking through the airport in Phoenix catching a flight after a very long and tequila filled night. We both participated in the fun, but the next morning my mother looks ready for her close-up as I try to hide behind a baseball cap and sunglasses.
As we hurried to the gate, a young man who worked for the airline offered to help us with our bags. He asked, “Are you two sisters?” Without missing a beat, my lovely mother says, “Yes! Can you tell which one is older?” He points at me and says, “You are!”
I wish I could say that was the only time that has happened.
As I remember those moments -(with some pride knowing I have a beautiful mother) I struggle with my aging looks. In no way would anyone mistake me for one of my sons sisters. Maybe when I was 30.. but not at fifty! But this feeling of having to compete with my mom in this one sided rivalry throughout my life has put a lot of pressure on me to look as good as she does today.
At times I will rummage through her bathroom drawers and cabinets searching for that fountain of youth, looking for any new and improved solution to the crows feet that have left their mark on my sagging skin. She has lotions and tubes (I think I saw a syringe in there too!) lots of different remedies for ‘reducing the appearance of fine lines’.
She could not possibly be using all of this shit! Could she?
There are many things I have in common with my mom today, but I never thought that the number of tubes, jars and creams I have in my bathroom would be one of them. I guess I should be thankful that I have a mom who takes pride in her regimen and her looks, therefor providing me with some great tools!
I wonder if I had not been blessed with such a youthful, beautiful family, would I be so obsessed with my looks? Let me clarify- with my aging looks. Regardless, beauty is just skin deep, right?
NO, it’s not! It’s superficial, and it matters!! It’s what gets you noticed when you are sitting next to a great looking guy and he asks, “Can I buy you two lovely ladies a drink?”
There were three of us. I was sitting next to my mom and her sister.
I hope they enjoyed their cocktails. I on the other hand will continue to count the dimes in my jar.
Yes, I am rich!