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feeling_youngI live with mirror images. On one side are my daughters, a reflection of my youth. With each passing day, they mature, define, and become more beautiful. On the other side is me, a women plea-bargaining to stop the wrinkles. I get the concept that with each passing year I gain beauty on the inside. I get the idea that knowledge and experience provide a different set of glasses. What I don’t get is why I need to take on the role of Droopy in Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs. 

One of the ways I resist aging is with fashion. I love clothes. From time to time, I will visit the accessory section of a department store to learn new ways to tie a scarf, pick up some great sunglasses, or just to become versed on color and fashion. This Spring, I left Nordstrom armed with artillery; an orange (hot color) scarf that doubles as a shawl, a fabric bow for my hair that J. Lo wore on American Idol, several jeweled headbands, a beach hat with a bow, and my favorite, a straw cowboy hat with turquoise beads.

“Mom” my twelve-year-old son said.

“I think they sold you a bill of goods. I don’t see anyone else here in Wal-Mart with a cowboy hat on.”

“It’s fashion honey. It’s part of being a woman.”

He looked at me strangely and made his way to the toy section.

It wasn’t until two aisles later that it all became clear. A relatively handsome, middle-aged gentleman approached and complimented my hat. He told me that he loved my style even if it didn’t go in Wal-Mart. I dismissed the Wal-Mart comment, thanked him, and went on my way. 

Two aisles later, he approached again.

“Excuse me (oh no here comes another Wal-Mart crack), please don’t think I am rude, but I am wondering if you are married?”

I just looked at him, wondering to myself... where was camera, and who set me up?

“Yes, I shouted....HAPPILY.”


“Well, when you go home tonight, tell your husband that you met a man who said he was the luckiest guy around to have a young, beautiful wife like you.”

If I didn’t suspect I was on camera, I would have hugged him. Right there in Wal-Mart, aisle six, I knew that the mirror didn’t matter. Even with four kids, when you look young, and you feel young, you ARE young.

For more work by me, please visit Thought I Was Perfect.



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