When I was a young, twenty-something newlywed, I went to a weekly Relief Society activity. I can't remember what we did, but I do remember overhearing a woman talking to her friends. This is what she said:
"I was putting on my make-up and noticed a little wrinkle in my chin. I was so depressed about this new wrinkle and about how I'm getting old. And as I was obsessing in the mirror over this wrinkle, I got a little closer and realized it wasn't a wrinkle, it was a whisker!"
She couldn't figure out what was worse: her failing eyesight or the fact that she had a whisker.
Meanwhile, I was shocked and disgusted. It was like finding out who Santa was and how babies are made all in the same fell swoop. Still, it couldn't be true. This scenario would surely never play out in my own life. Would it?
Last week I turned 44. With each advancing year, I feel more and more connected to this woman from my past. The body is an amazing thing even when it starts to betray us. However, with the right lighting, I am proud to say, I have yet to mistake a whisker for a wrinkle.