Showing My Age

Lately…I have been “feeling my age”…not meaning I feel bad, or done, or “ova” as they say…rather I FEEL it…it feels good…comfortable…it feels like “the right age,” and so it makes sense that I should show it…no?

‘I’m showing my age’ said Anne, looking at herself in the small tarnished mirror in their bedroom at Bognor.

‘Rubbish,’ said Mary, ‘your hair’s as brown as ever.’

‘It’s the skin that gives it away.’

‘Where?’ asked Mary coming closer.

Anne pointed to various soft faint lines on her face and places where her neck looked stretched.

‘That’s only you…what’s the word? What does one say of statues when they’ve gained in charm over the years?’

‘Patina?’ said Anne, amused. ‘Like the yellowing of ivory.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mary. ‘Who wants their masterpiece to look new?’

Life Mask, Emma Donoghue



(image by Michelle Wild Photography)

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