I looked in the mirror yesterday and I suddenly realised that I look older. Not old, hopefully. I’m not worrying about wrinkles just yet. Definitely older than the last time I checked, though.
How old I feel usually depends on whether I am asked for ID in the supermarket when I’m trying to buy beer. Or if that polite young salesman in the shop calls me “Madam”. It’s little things like that which really let you know where you stand in the world.
I suppose it is because you see yourself every day, that the changes are less noticeable. That’s why when you see relatives that you haven’t seen for a long time, they always remark “Haven’t you grown?” or “Look at you!” and that’s usually followed by a big fat kiss on the cheek.
I like it, actually. I’ve always looked older than I am. (Someone once commented and asked if I was my mother’s sister. She was thrilled, I wasn’t so happy about that!) I feel like now I’ve actually grown into my face.
That may be the weirdest sentence I’ve ever written.