I suppose it was stupid of me not to realize this would happen. While it was happening I was busy looking at my little beer belly, the hair on my chin, my drooping eyelids and the seemingly magical loosening of skin all over my entire body. Sounds attractive doesn’t it?
With all of these other physical distractions I barely had time to notice that my chin was descending into my chest. My chest? That’s another issue! Who the hell put all those cracks down there? They say you can tell a woman’s age by her chest. Well, depending on where you look at me I’m either a twelve year-old or a ninety year-old.
I imagine the chin has been dying to drop down there for years. I’m kind of a big smiler and perhaps my chin just said, “Enough of this happy stuff.” Who knows? What I do know is that I have no chin. It’s gone, disappeared, nada, nothing. This means that may face now looks huge and blends right in with my shoulders, neck, and the wrinkles in my chest.
It ain’t a pretty sight.
So I’ve been doing a mess of photos for the book tour and just in case Ellen or Oprah need a fill-in. I’m not one to lie about age, height, weight – nothing. I do NOT look like I did three years ago or a year ago or an hour ago. Gravity is a bitch.
So the chin’s gone and I refuse to look like Joan Rivers. That woman’s eyebrows are destined to be on her rear end one of these days. If anyone puts a knife to my face it’s because they want to steal all my silver bracelets. This is me. I’m going to be 57 – I really don’t want to look like I’m thirty. I was way too thin back then. Ha ha ha!
I’ve decided to stop looking for my chin. I’ve also figured out if I tip my head back and to the side and then act like I am sucking on marbles the photos almost, and almost is a key word here, make it look like I have a partial chin.
Partial is better than nothing. And I still think every day is a gift no matter how many body parts go missing, descend or expand.
Bring it on!