July 08, 2006
Once we pass the age of 50, our faces tell a lot about us, at least to the teenage crowd.
In recent months, I have noticed an odd phenomenon in this unwelcome aging process that is beginning to cause me a good deal of chagrin, especially with regard to my face.
Apparently, it has something to do with sags, bags, and lines.
Actually, I really did not notice the effects of aging that much, until a cashier at McDonald’s, who had to be all of 12, charged me 27 cents for a cup of coffee.
“Twenty-seven cents?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes,” she said. “I gave you the senior discount.
“And what age is that,” I asked.
Now, she realized what she had done and the grave sin she had committed.
She was beginning to figure out that it is not a good idea to tell a woman she is a senior. It is just fine if she tells you, but not a good plan to mention that fact to her first.
I have to give the youngster some credit for figuring this out so quickly; however, she would not raise her head or look at me for the rest of the transaction.
Steamed, not so much at her as at the idea that she thought I qualified for a senior discount, I vowed to never get in her line again.
The first thing I did when I got in the car was to inspect my face carefully and critically in the car rearview mirror.
I should have looked in the mirror on the outside passenger side where a little sticker warns us that objects might appear differently than they really are.
That would have cushioned the blow somewhat.
No, I chose instead to look in the painfully honest, exactly like-it-is mirror inside the car in broad, unforgiving daylight.
We know mirrors tell no lies, do we not.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, please tell me this is not what I am seeing, I worried.
Oh, my.
When did this happen?
Where did that face I had at 20 go?
Coco Chanel of the famed perfume company of the same name, once said, “Nature gives you the face you have at 20; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty.”
I have been working hard at this Coco for many years, moisturizing, cleansing, and using sunscreen.
Why did that baby girl at the counter think I was over 62?
Now, I had to find out if others thought I looked that old, too.
I went back to the same establishment the following week.
Determined to test my face against the likes of a new and different youthful cashier, I marched up to the counter and gave a delightful young man of 18 my best smile.
He was polite and charged me 97 cents for my coffee.
Yes!
Good boy.
This week, when I stopped for coffee, I got in the line where another college-age young man was taking orders.
From now on, I thought, I will avoid girls, who as any woman knows, notice every hair out of place and take in your entire outfit from top to bottom in a half a millisecond.
“That will be twenty-seven cents, Mam,” he said.
Arrgh!
Later that day, I was telling my husband the story.
It would help you to know that our oldest son’s nickname is “Squeaky”, and that “the apple does not fall far from the tree”.
You get my drift; my husband transcends tight, as I am fond to say.
He says to me, “That’s great. You should have taken the 27-cent discount. I would have. I don’t know why you are upset.”
The very next time we were driving somewhere, he (not I this time) wants to stop for coffee.
This is coming from a person who always orders water because coffee and tea cost too much.
Now, he goes up to the counter and orders two, not one mind you, but two senior coffees.
I got out of that line and went immediately to the car.
“Why did you order me a senior coffee,” I asked when he returned. “You know I am not 62, and furthermore, I do not legally qualify for it.”
“But it is such a good deal,” he said.
Enough already, I am switching to tea or cappuccino for which everyone, no matter their age, pays the same price, and I do not care what that price is.
On second thought, I think I will just go through the drive-through where they can’t see me and order my regular coffee.
Surely, they won’t charge me 27 cents there.
