I looked in the mirror yesterday and witnessed some unsightly sights.

My mother’s reflection gazed back, sympathetically.

My immediate response was, I am sorry!!

Sorry for not being more compassionate.

Queen E. hated the brown spots and the fine lines creeping onto her face.

She lamented her dancers feet aching.

I dismissed it after being genuinely solicitous.

Now I am freaking out at the startling signs of advancing age.

I am aggressively trying to combat the process short of plastic surgery.

I have no one to complain to regarding my personally unsightly fate.

Men don’t get it. They are often considered better looking with age despite spots, lines, beer bellies and thinning hair. Talk about an unlevel playing field.

My daughter reacts with genuine sympathy, but when you are young, beautiful and devoid of signs of grey pantherhood, you just don’t know how emotionally debilitating the aging process can be.

Why do these hideous spots surface in an ugly shade of brown?

Brown spots on dogs, cows and giraffes are adorable…on humans not so much.

The color is the same shade as poop and mud…perhaps dermatologists can develop a more appealing rainbow of colors to replace the brown spots if laser fails.

I would rather have a turquoise or Kelly green spot which I could explain away as a fashion forward beauty spot rather than a hideous poopie mark on my face and hands.

I need to talk to the amazing dermatologist, Dr. Goldenberg, about a more fashion forward spot program.

In this day and age and for the right price anything is possible and necessary to ward off aging induced depression.

As a vain, highly successful woman once told me, it’s better to look good than feel good.

Presently, I concur.