Last night I went out with the Lost Lions, and indulged in a pear cider. Today I look like I've been on a three-day Boone's Farm binge. Obviously, the old gray mare just ain't what she used to be.
Fortunately, I have high-tech ammunition in the battle against time, or at least in the struggle to keep the battleground well manicured. My arsenal includes special soaps, creams, lotions, masks...things that promise to lighten and tighten and firm things that frankly weren't all that light and tight and firm to begin with.
My most recent aquisition was a gift from my mother-in-law, who sent me a two month supply of a do-it-yourself-at-home chemical peel. So far, so good, although I have to wonder exactly what degree of vanity makes rubbing acid on my face sound like a good idea. Granted, it's just a modern, less smelly, more sanitary version of Cleopatra bathing in asses' milk, but it still gives one cause to pause.
I'm not pausing for long, though. Just because I earned every line and gray hair doesn't mean I want to put them all on display.