aging is fine--just keep the lines

I am not one of those women who fear every birthday--who weep at the thought of growing another year older and pulling farther away from the youth that is so quickly slipping through my fingers. Hell, for years it has seemed like I've been playing a game of "catch up" with my age. Haven't I been 34 since I graduated from college? Seems that way sometimes. I don't feel much different. All right, I admit it--I'm more tired than I was 11 years ago. Having kids will do that to a body. But, the....essence...of me doesn't feel too much different. So, I am a woman who has not a single moment's hesitation when asked how old I am. I proudly state it for all who can hear. I've grown well into my current age. It feels right to me. However, I have one complaint. I don't mean to be fussy and I'm certainly not what is considered a high maintenance chick. Yet, the past few days I can't help but look in the mirror and wonder... what the hell are those lines doing under my eyes???!!!! Right there, in the interior corner of them both: lines, wrinkles, call 'em whatever the hell you want; it's all the same. The lines, themselves, aren't the real problems (mostly). It's where they are that bug the shit out of me. They're not on the outer part of the eye--which could give me a look of aging in a slightly more graceful way. OH NO FRIGGIN WAY. They are UNDER the innermost part of my eyes...and they look like crap! Nothing subtle about these buggers. Val, the girl who gives me my occastional facial, thinks it's just dehydration. Ok, fine. But, for the first time, I'm asking for some wrinkle cream. She gave me some moisturizer cream just for the eyes to try first. I'm hoping it works. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of people asking me how many years YOUNGER my husband is than me. I am not a cradle robber, people! He was born in 69, and I in 71. I know math was never my subject, but even I know who's older. I'll take the lines...they're a map, of sorts, to the experiences I've had throughout my life. If I thought about it, I could probably figure out where each of them came from and give them a nice, nostalgic name: family, friends, former students and co-workers, events, etc. But, do I have to look like a friggin bag lady? Guess that's the trade-off to finally "acting my age"... at least I'm not going grey--too much...