Oil of olay and other such nonsense

I’ve always been a Cetaphil kind of girl when it comes to moisturizers and face products. It’s no fuss, cheap, scent free, and I can buy it at walgreens. But now? Now I’m an Oil of Olay girl. Why you ask? Because my daughter is going to college. Got her first acceptance letter Sunday and it’s official, my kid is no longer a kid, I am no longer young, and I must start using Oil of Olay because that’s what you do when you hit the age when your kid is old enough to go to fucking college.

For those of you who have been through this whole transition, you feel me. For those of you who haven’t, good lord you are in for a ride. How do you come to grips with letting go of the baby who used to snuggle into your neck and wrap her little arms around you and give you baby kisses with an open mouth? How do you see the adult standing in front of you all the while still searching for a little bit of that baby hiding somewhere, anywhere? That baby that needed you when she was sad, hungry, scared, mad, happy, dirty, uncomfortable. That baby who needed you to navigate the world for her and hold her little hand as she learned how to walk and how to fall down and get back up and to make her first friends and to step up onto her first school bus. That baby who looked up at you like you were the only person in the world. More importantly, how do you look at the tuition and fees without violently vomiting and passing out?

So as she lets go of me and my death vice grip on her life, it’s time to give myself a real hard look in the mirror. As I look in the mirror, I remember reading shit like: the lines on your face express the laughter in your life, the trying times, the love, the work, the experiences blah blah blah and you should be proud of them blah blah blah. Fuck that. When I look in the mirror I want to see my face without a thousand creases or bags under my eyes or hairs on my goddamn chin. I don’t want to see big honkin pimples that go along with menopause either FYI, all set with that.  Call me vain if you want I could give a shit. Sure my back pain makes me feel like I’m 80 and I have to wear progressive lenses and the font on my phone is big enough that my neighbors three doors down can see it but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to control what I can control while I still can. So in honor of my oldest’s transition to college and the cold, hard look in the mirror, I went out and bought a metric shit ton of oil of olay. And a tweezer for every room, car, and office space. And a probiotic. And maybe some geritol.

The end.


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