Old

Nothing reminds you that you're slowly descending downhill into middle age like a perky 19-year old Sephora salesgirl referring you to an under eye product labeled "industrial strength concealer." From the sound of things, if this didn't work, my only remaining, albeit cheaper, option would be a brown paper bag over my head.

Now I love, love, love the Sephora store, don't get me wrong. But would it kill the salesgirls to kiss up to me just a tad? The Clinique counter girls already lost my business by incorrectly aging me in my 40s. Why they would venture to mention I might be in my 40s, when clearly I am in my beauteous 30s, is beyond me.

It doesn't seem that long ago that I was in my 20s. My beauty routine consisted of taking off my make-up or using moisturizer only when I felt like it. Washing my face in the shower. Never using sunscreen. You get the general drift. Nevertheless, I used to get comments at least once a week on my skin. Strangers on the street would tell me what beautiful skin I had and what a gorgeous shade of porcelain (much nicer term than pasty, by the way). I'd get asked what products I used and told how lucky I was.

Apparently those days are over. Now I get referred to "industrial strength concealer" to cover the big brown bags under my eyes. I have to admit to buying the product and trying it. While it does help, nobody will confuse me for being in my 20s. I suppose I can live with that.