How old do you have to be to say “the hell with it,” and just go to the grocery store without makeup? Despite the fact that without makeup, you look pasty faced and your eye bags command attention?

What about wardrobe? When can you run an errand in a shirt with a grease spot from last night’s spaghetti, and face the world unashamed?

Spanx. When are you just too old to worry about that pooch? Let it all hang out?

Speaking of Spanx, at what point in your life do you forget that there is even such a thing as a carb? Instead, you merrily order dessert, have donuts for breakfast, and just move up another clothing size?

Do people turn 60 and throw caution to the winds? Pass gas at will? Or is it 70? Do most seventy year olds give a damn about their appearance, their reputation, or how many days can go by without washing their hair?

I keep waiting for that magical moment. The day I wake up and take one look at my tube of concealer and throw it directly into the trash. The day I decide that white teeth aren’t  worth sitting with those vile-tasting strips on,  waiting for the kitchen timer to go off. The day I once and for all decide that no matter what, I will never even consider an underwire.

That day has not arrived.  I just ordered a jar of slug slime. It is supposed to do wonders for wrinkles.


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