Rant

My Oh My… Let’s see, today has been CRAZY! I can barely see right now because vinegar was splashed in my eye today. Annabelle and I were doing science experiments and we were investigating acids, bases, and neutrals, and Annabelle picked up the test tube of vinegar and and it flew out and splashed in my eye. PAIN! I stumbled to the sink screaming expletives, my eye on fire, and took out the faucet and squirted it directly into my eye. I never thought squirting water in my eye would feel good, but ohhhh boy…I had to lie down on the couch with a wet paper towel on my eye. This after visiting the dermatologist this morning and being told she would recommend botox around my eyes. “Are you saying I have wrinkles?” I asked. The dermatologist laughed gaily as she said she’d also add a plumper around my mouth.
Now, I’m not a fan of plastic surgery–the thought of having my body cut open and risking possible death in the name of an unattainable ideal of beauty is not my idea of a good time. It’s nice that Botox doesn’t require surgery, but it doesn’t sound appealing to me to try to look younger than I am. Now, I will say my dermatologist looks amazing–she seriously has the skin of an eighteen year old, and she’s 32. But 32!! Is that even old enough to start botox and anti-aging treatments? Besides, who doesn’t look amazing at 32? Those are the best years for physical beauty! 
Now, when I see women I admire and think are beautiful, none of them have gone under the knife or even had a “plumper”. My Mom is number one. 71 years old and she still has gorgeous skin. Could be genetics–she has olive skin from her Mexican mother. Alas, I fear I got my Dad’s skin–he’s scottish and his skin tone greatly resembles a sharpei.
As for me, I’ve given up on beauty for now. I’ve chopped my hair, and I realize, as I’m about to turn 40, that I don’t care. I want to work on my mind, my soul, my heart, not my outer beauty. I kind of want to see what it’s like to be one of those middle aged women with choppy messy hair and glasses.The ones you see reading books while they eat breakfast solo at a cafe and seem perfectly happy about it. Why can’t we age gracefully? Can’t we celebrate our round mommy tummies, our breastfeeding breasts, our laugh lines? Why aren’t those the beauty ideal?
I recently realized I used to be Maryanne, then I became Ginger, and as I enter my 40’s, I’m becoming Mrs. Thurston Howell the third. I would keep writing, but I have to find my way off this island.