Mercilessly, by the time you are in your 50s, the urge to scope out other women your age and take notice to what they are wearing, how their makeup looks, lives on in your psyche like a bad High School redux. You are once again hyper-aware of your appearance and want to do something about it. Diet. Exercise. See a plastic surgeon.
This frenzy of self-awareness leads to the second aspect we used to dread from our adolescent school days: revived competition from other women. But at this age, we can't console ourselves with the thought that in just a few years we'll: have bigger breasts, be better-looking than we are now, be way smarter and more successful than the head cheerleader. Our only hope is to live with the fact that we're wiser, and happier with who we are, being a terrific wife and mother and everything else OPRAH tells us about how great we are after 50.
Even as I find myself casing other women, even total strangers, I then turn the microscope on myself and scrutinize every last wrinkle and brown spot. At parties or business functions, I'm aware of the x-ray stares checking out my outfit, my shoes, my hair, followed by the silent confirmation of approval -- or disgust. Women always do this to each other, of course, but at 50 you're hyperaware of the intense scrutiny: "Hmm, she's looking rather 'placid' -- did she get her forehead injected?"
I know many of my friends have taken to renovating themselves, and their lives, in the spirit of taking a last big gulp of youth: I will squeeze into that miniskirt! I will never let gray make an appearance on my head! I will take that soul journey to find my inner self! I will yank, pull and firm my skin to the tautness of a baby's butt, and then go back for more! I will be happy after I ________ (fill in the blank).
Maybe the next time I find myself checking out another woman I'll start a conversation. Where did she get that outfit, where did she find those shoes, does she workout on a regular basis, are you really as happy and self assured as you seem? You might receive some great beauty tip or confidence booster. Or you may just have a revelation, like that time you caught Miss Popular crying her eyes out in the girls' bathroom, that true happiness is entirely subjective.
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