It is with depressing regularity that I now am asked “Do you have children?” rather than the question I formerly used to receive: “Do you want children?”. Yes, this means I am no longer a spring chicken and while I don’t want to, I have to accept this fact, lest I turn into one of those pitiable women who, to the embarrassment of all those around her, dresses in clothes for teenagers and still expect advances from men in their 20s.
Adding insult to injury, I have inherited my father’s face, which isn’t a bad thing except that his family gets the droopy jowls with age. My mother’s side (and hence my brother, who inherited my mother’s face) does not get the jowls nor do they get any kind of saggy face, neck or otherwise.
There is no easy solution like the one where you get a little pudgy to fill in the wrinkles on your face. Although the opposite might be worth a try – get skinny enough so that the skin sits tight on my face. Does this work? Should I try it at the expense of having no boobs and chicken arms? Hey, I’m a bike rider, I can say I’m just getting to my climbing weight during this little experiment. I’m not ready to kick down 10 grand for a face lift and I don’t want to look like the Hollywood people with the giant cheeks and joker smiles. Even Madonna, whose work on her face is clearly high quality and very expensive, no longer looks like Madonna with her giant cheekbones that are just a little too alien looking to be something nature made.
So my experiment begins now. Who knows, if nothing else, I might just become a decent climber — jowls and all.