I’ll Age Gracefully…As Long As I Don’t Look Like I’m Aging

Up until very recently I thought I would embrace aging with a let-my-hair-get-grey-let-my-wrinkles-show-I-earned-these-battle-wounds kind of swagger. Well, I have a confession to make: I want a hair colorist and the best fucking eye cream money can buy. I was okay with a few grey hairs. I held high hopes for growing a skunk stripe. I was going to look very cool and very elegant with my white stripe of hair against my naturally black hair. I could handle the two white hairs that grew at my hairline and looked more like white pubic hairs sprouting out of my forehead than real head hairs. I own a really great pair of tweezers that took care of those suckers. A smattering of white hairs all over my head screaming to be seen against my black hair and crows feet I’m positive everyone can see are not cool. Seriously, if you know of a great, inexpensive colorist in NYC, send me his or her number ASAP. If you have an eye cream you love and a face cream that makes everything look like it did when I was 20 tell me…NOW. The shit I’m using has not made anything disappear overnight screw this two weeks to a more youthful glow, make it disappear while I sleep…without Botox or surgery. Maybe it’s my upcoming birthday, but I am not aging gracefully with a laissez-faire attitude. I am going in armed and ready for battle.

About djunapassman

I teach yoga, write, and edit. I live in a Brooklyn neighborhood that is changing faster than I can, or care to, keep up with. Manhattan still beckons me to her island a few subways stops away, reminding me of when I lived amongst her daily hustle and bustle.
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