Laugh-lines, my ass.

.... The lines on my face, that is. I was staring at myself in the mirror the other day wondering "when did I get old?" Was it the moment I saw my 2 year old close our cat in the dishwasher? Or those few crazy week's when I was 28? Did it happen when I wasn't looking? These days I resemble a frowning-Joker. My laugh-lines (more like ABSOLUTELY HYSTERICAL LINES) are about a mile long and my "I'm not really happy with this situation and the sun is in my eyes" lines just above the bridge of my nose are slowly sauntering towards my hairline. And the lines are not my only gripe. The spots. When on God's green earth did these things appear? You can only call them "Freckles" so long. Maybe it was all those afternoons when I was 17, laying on my front porch in direct sunlight from 10 -2 listening to The Smiths "Louder than Bombs", covered in baby oil (yes, baby oil). I can still hear my mother yelling out the window "don't stay out in the sun too long - it's not good for you". Yeah right mom, what do you know. WHY DIDN'T I LISTEN TO MY MOTHER? So, here I am 19 years later in the isle at CVS staring at cold creams, body wraps, seaweeds, clay masks, grapefruit-infused eye gel, mineral body-butters wondering what the hell to do. I could try each one - dropping a few hundred bucks or I could take out a second mortgage and get injections laced with pigs blood and Agent Orange. If I only knew then what I know now....If I had only listened to my mother. If only I didn't look like an over-tired, polka-dotted slightly-upset Heath Ledger. Men seem to age with such style, and grace. Besides the hair loss and beer gut, what do they have to complain about? Women on the other hand - tend to end up looking like an old leather boot. One you've worn again and again to nightclub after nightclub - until eventually its' sole falls off.