Killing Me Softly

I just finished reading Drinking Problems at the Fountain of Youth. Ugh. The topic of aging is SO blinkin' depressing. Especially when (to misquote Roberta Flack or Lauryn Hill depending on your age-related frame of reference) every single chapter is "singing my life with her words." Yet, somehow, Beth Teitell's writing style makes the read enjoyable. Who else shares in gory detail fun-filled stories such as her morning microdermabrasing-cleansing-clarifying-restoring-reversing-rejuvenating-regenerating-refining-replenishing-renewing-brightening-tightening-toning-lifting-lightening-hydrating-protecting-defending-defining-defying-correcting-concealing-smoothing-plumping-minimizing routine?

To make matters worse: I'm still a soap and water girl who uses an inexpensive moisturizer. This may explain a lot. Argh.

Here are a few of the many tidbits that made me laugh (nervously):

• Age is the new fat
  
• Fighting wrinkles is like gambling; the house always wins
• Every wrinkle your friend freezes, every jowl she tightens, every crease she plumps, only throws your own imperfections into greater relief
• The dearth of stores called "Forever 51" is sort of a tip-off (when shedding light on our lack of fashion options)

So if you want to read a witty set of essays on botox, facelifts, posture, clothing, pores, wrinkles, crows feet, hair color, makeup and how to look "natural" in three hours or less, this may be the book for you. For me, it was like passing a trainwreck: I wanted to turn away but I couldn't.

With that, I came across a quote from Paul McCartney yesterday that made me feel better. "Imagination grows by exercise, and contrary to common belief, is more powerful in the mature than in the young."

Sure I'm getting droopy but maybe, just maybe, my creativity will soar. I'll gladly take that over looking 21 forever.