It’s been a long time since I’ve worn high heels. The aging feet don’t fit the same way they used to. The aging legs feel awkward, not sexy. The aging butt will take more than a little lift to regain its attractive youth.
Yet I wonder? How would widening hips feel crammed into a pencil skirt?
Would a boustier do anything good for sagging breasts?
And if I applied that careful layer of makeup – the teal and smoky eyes, blushing cheekbones, and bee-stung lips – would it cover my flaws or merely lie like a grotesque mask across my wrinkles?
So I’ll wrap myself in the silk of self-respect embellished by serenity. Sun on my face and a cat on my lap, unencumbered and barefoot.