The lines upon my face are my timeline

My outlook on aging is simple: It's inevitable so embrace it. It's been easy for me to wrap my arms around getting older because I've had the pleasure of seeing my sisters grow more beautiful as the calendar years flip by. As the youngest girl in a family of 10, it's rather inspiring to witness great genetics as they unfold through the years.

I recall a time when my Unca Chunk called me to let me know he'd received new photos I'd sent via email. He gushed, "just like your mother and sisters, you grow more beautiful with each passing year." Now, I know we all expect beloved family members to shower us with praise. But for me to hear that was like having the heavens opening up and my mother smiling down on me.

As a little girl, I had fears I didn't resemble my mother in the least. I'm the only brunette daughter. I was surrounded by blonde haired, blue eyed elder siblings. Mom had strawberry blonde curly locks. A complex about my aesthetic attributes developed early in life. My perspective was that of the black sheep. Obviously, I hadn't learned the perks of being the stand out. I just wanted to be like them.

Now that adulthood is in full swing I look in the mirror and adore each laugh line. The permanent crinkle on my forehead is my badge of honor for surviving the tribulations of my life. It represents the battles fought and won. When I look at myself in the mirror I see a fighter; a champion.

It's not my face that concerns me in the least. You can keep your Botox and collagen injections. My concern lies just under my neck and just above Thelma and Louise. When the f*ck did I get wrinkled, old lady cleavage? There's nothing that screams I've laughed a lot down there. ACK!

I moisturize from head to toe. I have dry skin. Not one square inch of my body is neglected. I extend my facial moisturizer down to the boobala zone and yet, my chest looks like a relief map of the Sahara.

I've never had any delusions that gravity wasn't going to take my 'girls' and drag them down. I'm dealing with that. Long ago I learned that I will always be at odds with bras and their inability to fully support me. What I didn't consider was that with gravitational pull comes looser skin.

Are you throwing up yet?

No longer can I fold my arms without fear of Betty White's cleavage rearing its shriveled head. Never has it been more important that men (and women) keep their eyes on my face when speaking to me. Ack. ACK!

It's a damn good thing that scarves are currently stylish when worn all year long. While walking in the mall yesterday I noticed that all the windows in the trendy stores had their mannequins sporting this trend. Cargo shorts, tanks, flip flops and a scarf loosely wrapped around the neck. Yes, I know it looks goofy to wear a tank top with a fringed, muslin scarf. But if the pert Jessica Alba can do it so can I. And damn it, I WILL! It's that or bring back the high collar, Victorian lace blouse. Gack!