Meet Shirley

Two days ago I found a new wrinkle above my right eye. Not just a tiny wrinkle but a deep line that appeared almost red in the mirror. It seems to be a forehead line that purchased beachfront property on the cove of my eyebrow. There isn’t one like it on my other side. I laughed when I saw it. I’m in my 60s. I expect new wrinkles and age spots to appear over time. I also expect my body to change overnight. It’s been doing that forever. I woke up one morning in sixth grade with boobs and stretch marks. I’m not talking about tiny boobs either. One night in my early sixties the skin around my mouth fell closer towards my chin as I slept. Today I decided to name my new forehead/eyebrow wrinkle Shirley. It deserves a name after bringing itself into existence with all the gusto of a 15-pound newborn. Its birth didn’t cause me any pain though. Only I can inflict pain on myself if I choose to resent Shirley’s presence in my neighborhood. If I convince myself that she is going to lower my property values. I’m not into gentrifying my face. No botox for me. “My body, my choice” isn’t just about my reproductive organs. And yet not all women make choices based on what they want. Some women make choices based on how they will be perceived by others. Can you blame them? Our society, whether online, in boardrooms, or at family dinners views women as less than when they make particular choices about how they look or whether or not they choose to have children. Society also judges women who don’t look like perfect 16-year olds. (They even judge the 16-year olds.) I don’t like or appreciate any of this judgment. Not when it’s aimed at me or at anyone else. Of course it bothers me because it doesn’t feel nice. or supportive. or accurate. or rational. I think it’s my job to be all of those things for myself. to not wait for other people to do it for me.

Cinse Bonino
2024