Semi-Daily Scribbles

Temples aren't impressed with my insistence they look nicer in a rich truffle brown. No amount of color can penetrate the tenacious grays that scream: Here comes a woman of a certain age. Mature! Seasoned! Older! All well and good. Tell it to my failing sight and arthritic knees. The bunions are lovely, too. Scowly, frowny lines inch their way across my face to eventually connect and intersect. Oh, the dreaded 11's right between the eyes! And these damn designers keep messing with my dress size.

I'm not giving in. Not going down without regular peels and injections. Vanity fights the good fight at my side. She is the best secret keeper I could ever want. Corroborates my stories and looks the other way when I trim back the years in the spirit of long-lived youthfulness.