A small child once asked me why I had pleats on my forehead.
I explained that said forehead had been out in all weathers for a lot of years, hence it was a bit saggy and that the proper name for pleats was wrinkles.
Our wrinkles are a line map of our lives – joy, love, sadness, all the emotions we have experienced are there to see.
Ask anyone to describe the most beautiful face they ever saw. They would probably remember the face of their child, the person they fell in love with and their mother’s face.
One of those faces would, no doubt, be wrinkled but still beautiful to the beholder. We all know older people who are still beautiful, perhaps in a different way. They have accepted the ageing process as yet another stage in life.
No way! The anti-ageing zealots, misguided people who judge a person by the way they look, scream at us from every magazine, advert, website and newspaper to join their quest to be wrinkle free.
With a promise of eternal youth they present us with their magic potions. Crème de la hope, crème de la expectation, crème de la disappointment, etc . . .
The scientist who develops the elixir of youth – ie the eradication of wrinkles – would receive the Nobel Prize in Switzerland, be ennobled in London, beatified in Rome and will become the richest person on the planet. This person does not exist.
Let’s take a flight of fancy into the zealots’ camp.
If the creams fail then the surgeon can tighten the skin on your face, smooth the contours, add two large lips and hey presto! You are young and beautiful once more.
What a prospect! I would be horrified to see my young face staring back at me through the mirror.
What would I do with it? It wouldn’t match the rest of me, which a famous actress recently described as a melting candle.
The zealots will not accept this fate. They would spend endless hours sweating in a gym, eat two grapes a day in an attempt to keep their candles burning. What a waste of precious time.
What about friends, cakes, chats, meals and even, heaven forbid, chocolate. I hear they are even having surgery on their hands lest they reveal their age.
Let’s stay smart, oh pleated ones, with good food, exercise and our flair for fashion. We discovered our own style years ago. No surgeon can put that light in your eyes which speaks of love and wisdom.
Let’s follow the zealot’s path to the extreme. Imagine visiting your mother’s death bed to find, on the pillow, the face of a beautiful young woman-with big lips!
My reaction to this is UNREPLEATABLE!