Wrinkle in Time

I bought anti-aging serum yesterday.

At Walmart.

Because I noticed, just that morning, that I was beginning to see the shadows of my very first age spot. For those wondering, it's a slightly dark, fingerprint-sized, barely there, spot under my left eye at my cheekbone.

I was horrified.

Hence the "serum".

I think the irony in this is that I don't really care about aging. I mean, sure. I've been lying about my age for the last 5 years (I ALWAYS say I'm 32, you do the math)... but I think that was actually more about wanting to be "officially" younger than my husband who looks even younger than he is (it's only 3 years, but I really hate it when he gets carded and I don't).

And I don't really care about the whole aging thing. I don't wear foundation - never really have. I don't wear eyeshadow or concealer or blush or eyeliner or whatever else women (and girls) are piling on these days. My idea of "makeup" is a double coat of mascara and a dab of Benetint on each cheek. Oh! If I'm feeling really creative, I'll add Benetint to my lips too! Same tube, double use! And all this "makeup" I put on in the car as my husband drives us to wherever we're going.

I've never pondered my reflection in the mirror looking for crow's feet or laugh lines or any other wrinkles. I do ocassionally obsess about blackheads, but acne is universal. No one wants icky, greasy acne - and that's an ageless truth.

But back to the aging & wrinkles & my new serum... So I'm plucking my eyebrows on my way out the door to the SwapMeet (where all good Mexicans go at least once a month). And that's when I see the spot. And.

I.

PANIC.

I look at it with two mirrors. I run to the bathroom, curse the lack of vanity that means I don't have any lighted mirrors or one of those super magnifier mirrors. I contort all over the counter trying to get a better look through my glasses (I don't even wear my contacts unless I HAVE to... told you I wasn't vain). And sure enough, it's my first age spot.

Make note: I got my first age spot on February 13, 2011 at approximately 9:43 a.m. No one else was present to witness this event (or my freakout).

But since I'm cheap, and I don't really know about beauty products (my mom is my kind of makeup non-wearer, except she DOES use foundation - to hide, what else? Age spots.)... I figure Walmart is as good a place as any to start on the road to vanity.

I buy a $17.97 tube of Neutrogena serum that says clearly on the box "shown to lighten age spots". This miracle is encapsulated in a slender, long tube that sort of looks like the extra conditioner that they include in boxed hair dye (again, my mom. I dye my hair for color because I don't care about the gray, and I only do it about twice a year, gray hairs be damned).

Seventeen dollars and ninety seven cents?! I could eat at Jack in the Box for three days straight with that! Yes, I know I spent $79.99 on a single pair of shoes last week. But I enjoy them! There's nothing to enjoy about age-spot serum (I'm not calling it wrinkle cream because that's not why I bought it... I bought it strictly for it's age-spot promises). And I get immediate satisfaction with the shoes - I'm pretty sure I have to wait weeks, months even, to see results with the serum.

Plus, now that one age spot is there, it's sure to invite its friends to join the party on my face. Why didn't the age spots pick my ass instead of my face? I could care less if I had age spots on my ass. Plus, age spots on my ass could join the existing party with the cellulite.

Okay. Maybe I am a little vain.