I Hardly Ever Look at It - Julie Farrar

You know, I hardly ever look at it. It sits there on my right temple, exactly three eighths of an inch away from my eyebrow, but I hardly even glance at it on an average day. No telling how long that age spot – about the size and color of a basketball – has been forming because, you see, I hardly ever look at it.

It’s practically invisible to me every night when I slather on Olay Regenerist night cream, following by Olay Definity anti-spot treatment. Rarely do I take note of whether or not it’s faded ever so slightly after two months of my bedtime regimen because, you see, I’m not vain in the least and I think aging is a wonderful, natural thing.

All of the lines and creases and spots are nothing to fear; they represent experience rather than a growing state of decline. So I hardly ever look at it. And after all, the dermatologist doesn’t seem worried. She assured me that it is not some malignant melanoma that will grow and eat away at my face until I look like a member of the Skeleton Army in “The Mummy.” Just to be on the safe side, though, I better slap on SPF 70 sunblock with Helioplex in it (don’t know what that is, but all the magazines say that it’s essential in any sunblock worth it’s SPF). No worries. What do you think? Would I look better if I grew my bangs a little longer?