I look young for my age. So does my sister; it must run in the family. I’m not complaining. I get told this frequently, so I know that’s how others see me. When I don’t get carded buying alcohol, I wonder to myself why the cashier skipped it.
Today, I apply moisturizer to my face. I stare into my bathroom mirror, leaning in close to make sure I rub in all of the lotion. Or attempt to catch any stray smears. One never assumes with low vision.
So I’m concentrating, squinting. As I scan my forehead, I freeze. I’m doing the Brian Williams eyebrows. I was not aware I could do that with my eyebrows.
My facial expressions have changed a little bit since my eyesight changed. My left eyebrow, like my left eye, used to be the dominant one, rising up when I inspected something. Now it looks like the right eyebrow tries to do the heavy lifting, but manages to bring up the left brow a bit, resulting in the news anchor expression thing.
I relax my facial muscles and notice the remnant of my squinting: wrinkles. I guess I’m getting to that time in life where some fine lines are starting. Wrinkles don’t bother me. It’s not like I can see them normally anyway. Maybe I will look like my age soon. Or like Brian Williams reporting something important.