Today I am grateful for funny faces. Like mine. Do you remember when you were a little kid and first learned about mirrors? You probably stood there for way longer than was normal (or was that just me) twisting your face and contorting your skin to see how funny you could look. Not so funny now, is it?
Full disclosure here. I have a couple of nasty, totally white, wiry corkscrew eyebrows that need dealing with occasionally. I know. Not pleasant. But if I don’t stay on top of them someone will think I’m an alien trying to reach my homeland, so I trim them. No, I don’t pluck because I heard two more will come back and also if I pluck out every gray/white one, soon I’ll LOOK like an alien with no brows at all. Yikes. TMI? I’m aware.
Sitting with my I-could-smash-you-with-a-hammer-8X-magnifying-mirror and trimming scissors in hand, with tweezer close, just in case, I set to task. Then I notice some hanging skin on my cheeks. So I start to play with it. Like a three year old.
That leads me to my turkey neck. I start pulling on the dangling participle flesh which used to bounce back. But it doesn’t bounce anywhere. It just hangs there waiting for Thanksgiving. All that flesh gets me wondering how many more Claymation looks I can create.
I start pulling on my chin, distorting my jaw, curling my lip. . .you know, all the stuff I did back in that first mirror so long ago. When my face still went back to normal and normal was good. Now I look like a bad art project that will only be saved by blowing itself up in the kiln.
Not only is my face a lot of fun to play with, so is the rest of my sagging self. Just think how much fun I can have with my bat-wing-upper-arms. Maybe I’ll fly, like Peter Pan. Or a real bat. If you see me hanging upside down from a barn rafter, please don’t hit me with a shovel. Throw fairy dust on me instead.
Funny faces are still fun to make, except now the funniest part is they last much longer. It reminds me of what my mom used to say. “You twist your face that way again and it will stay that way.” I hate when mom is right. It has. I can now screw on my hat and that’s convenient in a strong wind.
FYI – I’m hanging a shroud over that evil mirror. . .and my head. I hope that the errant eyebrows don’t poke through!
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