It was early December and I was home for the holidays. I was sitting next to my sister and I notice she is staring intently at my face. I ask her what she’s thinking, assuming some warm Christmas-like thought is going to come from her mouth. She looks at me and says, “I was just noticing all your wrinkles.”
Thanks sister. I love you, too.
She went on to talk about how mom doesn’t have that many wrinkles and was just wondering why we have so many compared to her. I’m not going to lie it’s made me slightly paranoid. Do I need a wrinkle cream? Can’t I just drink a lot of water? Is my face really that wrinkly? I’ve stared in the mirror a little longer the last few months, wondering about my wrinkles.
It was in the staring that I began to notice the wrinkles gave character. They were reminders of the laughing I had done over the years. They are reminders that I have lived a little while longer than others on this planet and that its not a bad thing. I’ve come to be thankful for the wrinkles which give a new definition to my particular brand of beauty.
I could attempt to have them removed and now I understand why someone would want Botox. But after a little reflection I’ve decided that I’d rather be unique in my wrinkles than just like everyone else in their smooth faces. There is no one else in the world who has this type of wrinkled beauty. I do not want anyone to take it from me.