Janie Emaus
Skin wrinkles. Hair whitens. Butts droop. Aging is not a pretty picture, is it?
And it’s even less pretty when you’re in a dressing room with all those mirrors that don’t hide anything. Rather, they emphasize all those parts of your body which you’d like to imagine looked differently.
But those mirrors don’t lie.
I was faced with that painful truth the other day when I went shopping with my mother and my daughter. Three generations of women made from the same mold.
The similarities were still there, but the differences were hard to ignore.
Years ago, my butt was as firm and ripe as a melon, just like my daughter’s. My thighs were smooth, void of those craters and bumps, resembling the moon surface. My arms didn’t have that flabby effect. My hair was a natural blonde.
After looking from my daughter to myself, I wanted to bolt out of that room. In fact, I wanted to bolt out of 2012 and into 1990.
Then I looked at my mom. And felt even worse.
I saw where my body was going!
And I’m not convinced that any amount of exercise can stop it from happening. (Although, I don’t think I’ll ever wear those old lady under panties.)
While I was lamenting the state of my future body, my daughter blurted out. “Ugh, I hate my waist.”
Me: “Your waist is perfect. Look at this extra skin around mine.”
My mother: “What are you two talking about? I’m one big wrinkle. My butt is flatter than melted butter. And my boobs are like bananas.”
With that, we all started laughing. There was no age difference in our giggles. Just three happy women, trying to find a decent pair of jeans that hugged our bodies in just the right way. No matter what that body looked like.
And we were determined to succeed.
No buts about it.
Previously printed at www.inthepowderroom.com.