I always figured I’d be the kind of woman who would happily embrace the aging process.
You know, the type who insists “age is just a number” and who celebrates every single laugh line as the sign of a life well lived.
But then, I hit my 30s.
That was when Father Time began marching across my face in the form of age spots, fine lines and laugh lines that stick around long after I stop smiling.
And I’ve got to admit, it kind of freaked me out. (read more at Chic Critique)