all that damn laughing

As if turning 35 and then reading Joyce Carol Oates's Middle Age weren't bad enough, I now qualify for anti-wrinkle cream focus groups. In the demoralizing entrance interview, I had to characterize whether I had "fine lines" or "deep wrinkles" and quantify the amount of "sagging" I was experiencing. (Fortunately, five minutes in the sun burns my Celtic cheeks to a crisp, so a lifetime of pastiness has me faring well for now.) Two weeks ago, I went to pick up the product I was to be testing (and, of course, the cool fitty in cash). For the past 14 days, I have struggled to find new ways to describe applying a thin lotion to my face. "Smooth" can only take you so far in the anti-wrinkle world. The day there was a slight burning sensation, I was delighted to have something novel to say. Now I'm off to have my fine lines examined for magical restoration. Wish me flawlessness.