Monday, February 11, 2013

American Ideals Suck (or, Youth Where it Matters)

On Saturday, in a fit of restlessness, I headed out to the nearest department store.

It wasn't that I'd been inside all day; on the contrary, I'd been to the Madison physics museum and the grocery store earlier. It was more of a desire to get out on my own for a bit while Spousal Unit engaged with video games and action movies I wasn't thrilled with at the moment. And so I went on a meager adventure.

I'd not planned to buy much; after all, that was not the point of the trip. As long as I was there, however, we did need a tablecloth to conceal the unsightly mess below the living room table. We also needed a second set of sheets (yes, we only have one). And then, I somehow ended up in the makeup aisle.

I've been noticing my age, lately. Not to say I'm getting old; I don't believe that at all. But the cells in my body are slowing their rejuvenation, and along with that come aches I never used to have, a desire to stay in when it's snowy out, and the gradual succumbing of my body to gravity.

Perhaps it's just laugh lines making their bid for permanent real estate on my face. Perhaps it's just the extra sag of the skin below my eyes, and the way it makes me look exhausted in the morning despite eight hours of sleep. Whatever it is, when I look at my face now, I see a change. Likely, no one else does, but as I spend a good deal of time with myself, I've noticed it easily.

The scariest part of that is, of course, the change. I've never been one to fear age. Certainly, I've wanted to stave it off longer than most - since I learned what aging was, and the terror of change, I think.

So when I found myself standing before the age-defying creams and rejuvenating face masks, seriously weighing their merits in my mind, I freaked out a little. And then I thought about modern society. Eternal youth is one of the other unreachable American dreams, attainable only by those who die young and Tina Turner.

Tina Turner, at 73!

Even if I were to spend a fortune on creams, collagen, and plastic surgery, these things would not change the fact that with every day, I get a little older. Which is scary sometimes, but not necessarily bad. It means another day with Spousal Unit. It means more chances to do things, go places, learn. And besides which, as Dwayne in Little Miss Sunshine says: fuck beauty contests.

So instead, I bought these.

Kids' bubble bath (because they don't have adult bubble bath where I went), season 3 of Archer, chocolate, and a plastic Batman tablecloth (with 7 villains hidden on it).

Even if I end up looking like Christopher Walken when I'm 50, I don't think I'll have a problem with staying young at heart.

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