Words of encouragement from a Concordian Husband of Perpetual Parturition: “Everything’s going to sag and wrinkle anyway, so you might as well have something to show for it.”
(He hastened to add that he was speaking only in generalities, for neither time nor gravity could lessen the perennial loveliness of his own bride in his eyes.)
Of course he’s right. The smooth-skinned Cosmo look we’re coached to pursue at all costs is startlingly fleeting. (Not so startling for those of us who remember how quickly we wither.) We’ve all seen the difference between the dignity of aging gracefully and the pathos of clinging desperately to an illusive, elusive covergirl rating.
Hmmm…respected for my battle scars by people I love or ogled by people I don’t even know? When I’m 70, what will I (DV) be carrying in my wallet and insisting on showing you: pictures of my grandkids, or a faded photo of my vain, lonely self in the swimsuit that by then has long gone the way of all flesh anyway?
There you have it. Not terribly profound nor deeply theological—but what’s the alternative, girls?