But the truth is, I think I look my age or younger. I think I look fine. I just wish I cared less.
So the other day, when I was sitting there minding my own business, imagine my joy when I looked down and noticed that my ankles were wrinkled.
Not baggy saggy. Not like a 90-year-old. But there were wrinkles where my foot and my leg come together. I guess it’d be a wrist if it was a hand. What do you call that anyway? Nevermind. I’m off-track here….
So I have these wrinkles. I was fascinated by them. When the heck did they get there? That day? The day before? Why hadn’t I ever noticed it before?
And then, my mind flashed back to my grandmother. Her legs were wrinkly there when the rubber meets the road too. Is this some crazy genetic disorder? Does it start in your forties?
I’ve always liked my calves. They are muscular, yet slim. I love putting on a great wedge or heels and letting that part of me show.
But now. Now that I know I have this ankle and foot-wrist infliction, what shall I do? Lucky for me, I suppose, that I love to wear boots.