July 25, 1999

The BIG 4-0 is looming closer and closer. In honor of this momentous birthday I'm trying to get it together to plan a trip. Far away.

When I turned 30 I was in Spain. It seemed as good a place to mark a new decade as any. And it sort of set a precedent. Leave the country for all birthday's ending in a 0.

OK, I'll either be out of the country or having a huge, rip-roaring party. Maybe even both.

So, I've been contemplating my age lately and what I'm going to do when I grow up, and last Thursday decided, for some clearly irrational reason to take a good look at my face. In the vanity mirror of my car. While I was sitting at a red light. In morning rush hour traffic. After not having had enough sleep. With no makeup on. Without even the benefit of moisturizer. I have three words for any of you contemplating doing the same. Don't. Do. It.

I've been blessed for many years with a youthful appearance. As a result of some sage advice from my stepmother (OK, technically she's my father's ex-wife but she's been in my life since I was 10 and even though they're not married anymore we're still quite close), I've been wearing sunglasses, religiously, since I was about 14.

My college roommate and other assorted girlfriends used to mock me for wearing sunglasses. But, beside the fact that my eyes are very photosensitive, I knew that keeping that "delicate around-the-eye skin" protected from the sun would serve me well in later years.

Now, most of those friends have crow's feet and I don't. Until last Thursday I had one wrinkle, under each eye. That was it. Not too bad I figured. Again, until Thursday.

The whole vanity mirror experience revealed that now there are three wrinkles under each eye. At the next red light I started manipulating my eyes. A little higher here. A little tighter there. Do I need an eye job? I was actually wondering that. Three wrinkles and I'm off to the plastic surgeon. Sheesh.

I got over myself and decided that I wasn't doing too bad but would definitely consider stepping up my skin care regimen and perhaps invest in some product with Alpha Hydroxy or some other miracle youth-in-a-bottle, wrinkle-battling potion. Then Friday came.

I woke up with a zit.

Zits and wrinkles. Is this too much?

I sort of figured that once you were old enough for the wrinkle part of the equation you were too old for the zit part. I'm here to tell you that that's not the case.

Until next time. . .