Not ready

I am not ready to confront the lines on my forehead that I swear appeared overnight. This is the solo dialog that just happened in my bathroom.

What. Is this.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

Maybe my skin is just dry?

Dummy, you live in the desert, it is ALWAYS dry here.

Oh god, I am going to get old and die one day.

I was ready for gray hair. I like my gray hair. Because it’s still mostly brown.

Need shea butter. Lots of shea butter. Right now. It’s masque time.

So here I sit, all shiny and shea-slathered, thinking about how it is completely unfair that earlier this evening I also had an “OMG I can’t believe that just came out of my face” zit popping moment. My face has seen better days. And all the better days are gone.