THERE’S A HAIR IN MY CLEAVAGE
I was busy with step 23 of my morning titivating routine when I glanced down and saw it. A hair. Growing between the twins. A hair with attitude. Bad attitude. Attitude that said “YOU, me dear, are getting older as we speak.”
The redistribution of hair seems to be one of nature’s favourite tricks when one steps a day or two past the age of 35. Where you want it there’s less. Where you never thought you’d see it, it suddenly appears. With attitude. Tenacity. “You can pluck me, BUT I WILL BE BACK. ”
There’s also a certain crepiness creaping in. Cleavage, hands, eyes.
And sagging. Cleavage, upper arms, jawline.
My mom loved this saying : “How do you know you’re getting old? When your mother’s hands come out of your jersey ….”
I don’t know why I thought it’ll never happen to me. Seeing my mother’s hands come out of my jersey. Having the jawline move south. GETTING OLD.
I’m pre-botox but definitely at the “anti-ageing”end of the beauty product spectrum. I have the handcream, the eye treatment, the firming serum, the line reducing night cream, the silk pillowcase – so -as – not -to – wake -up- with – crinkly- cheekes. Also, the anti-sagging day cream, the upper arm firming treatment and the state-of-the-art tweezers.
It’s all quite tiring actually. Some days I feel like letting it all just grow, hang and sag.
I looked at my daughter this morning. She’s 4 months old. She’s bald, she’s toothless and she’s got a round tummy. She’s also the happiest creature I’ve ever seen.
Makes you think, doesn’t it?