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When I was just a little girl, I asked my Mother what will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Here’s what she said to me…..

‘Use Oil of Ulay’.

Well OK, I don’t think the conversation was exactly that but I do remember her banging on about Oil of Ulay (as it once was before they decided to change a vowel. Why? Why did they DO THAT?), and I do remember her frequently applying said pale pink, rather nice smelling lotion all over her lovely face.

I’m not someone that wears alot of make-up, and any skincare routine has always been a bit sporadic, unlike my precious mama. I will slap on anything from handcream to expensive night cream if my skin feels dry, but generally, it’s a bit hit and miss. I wear sunscreen but can be forgetful about it. I probably don’t spend enough time really paying much attention to my face, until I catch sight of it in a mirror in a brightly lit room and give myself a fright. This ageing malarkey is a shocker.

I went out on Tuesday night in fancy dress, and applied a vast, obscene amount of make-up to my face, including a thick layer of orange foundation. What I did realise from doing that, was just how dry my skin is, and how gravity is actually starting to make me look like Droopy the dog.

Because of this, I spent some time in front of the mirror last night, contemplating whether I am, or would ever become, vain enough for cosmetic surgery – as I hoiked up the skin around my cheek bones, I realised just how effective it could be. In fact, I even made a little slide show about it to show you. I took some selfies of me pushing up the left side of my face. I even did some duck-face pouting for you. You can thank me later.

Here it is:

Today I have come to my senses, and have decided that I’m rather fond of my ageing face. It’s going to get worse of course, but I don’t care. If I had the chance to trade my fifteen year old self’s skin for my older woman’s learned confidence and, dare I say it, contentment, then I would happily reject the youthful complexion every time.

I could stop smoking and one day I will. That would be sensible for many reasons. I shall apply more moisturiser and start looking after my skin a bit more. Treat myself to some more regular facials. I broke my nose when I was younger (which is fairly obvious given the weird wonky shape), and when I was in my very early twenties, I was referred to an ENT specialist on two seperate occasions to have it re-broken and set. Both times I backed out, and not because I was scared or even that vain, but because my wonky nose is all a part of my story and who I am.

One thing that I could really live without though is the shocking amount of hair that is perpetually sticking out of my face these days. In fact, it is the perpetual spinach of the dermatology world. It’s a common problem among the women in my family. I swear that for each of the men folk in the family that are gradually losing hair on top, there is some weird genetic hair re-distribution phenomenon going on where their hair vanishes from  their heads and comes out of our faces.

But I look at women my age and older and generally, see something else in their faces which I referenced earlier. Confidence? Strength? Peace of Mind? Sexiness? Something…..and not everyone will feel like that but there is so much to be said for how age affects all those things in a positive way. It’s worth every single line, if you can trade the angst of youth for the contentment that comes with age.

Anyway my friends, here’s to wrinkly old faces! And Oil of Ulay.