Who's That?

Most of the time, I don't really know what I look like. I pretty much recognize myself in a mirror, at least at home, where I'm used to the mirrors and their quirks and only really look at my reflection in the one with soft lighting. But catching a glimpse of person dressed like self passing by a window? Not so easy, especially when reflected person doesn't much resemble what I think I'm projecting to the world.

Part of the problem is that you see what you're looking at, sort of. I look at my eyebrows (or lack thereof) fairly often, to see if they're once again filling in the area underneath them with coarse, rogue hair. I look at whether the part in my hair is drifting back to the middle of my head, exposing some sunburned scalp. I look at the creases deepening in that floodplane between my nose and the corners of my mouth and how, despite my efforts to be cheerful and carefree, the corners of said mouth turn resolutely down. Unsmiling, I am one scary looking Gramma.

So I take all these small facial components out for a walk in public and don't recognize them when they reflect me back in an unfamiliar venue. And wonder why I am so vain.

I don't remember being this vain during my extended youth. All my appendages worked. Nothing changed much from year to year, although my skin got dry and drier. Sometimes I had good haircuts, sometimes I just had to wait until a bad one grew out. I never learned what to do with makeup, so the most I could manage was mascara and brush-on blush. I have bought many lipsticks in my adult years, all of which got used twice, at most. None of them made my thin-lipped mouth look voluptuous, oddly enough. Chapstick was a good alternative which didn't show if it bled into the little cracks around my lips.

I think I'd better start celebrating my slender ankles and nicely shaped finger nails. Why not? Oh, and the temporary lack of hangnails is good. Given a bit more time, I may even get to enjoy my earlobes.