I’m no role model for the love what Mother Nature gave you crowd.

Mother N and I have been in an ongoing disagreement about my hair color since college.

As for makeup, that’s my morning art class, always my favorite subject.

But I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of injecting poison into your face to freeze your expression. Much less all the options for scraping, peeling, cutting, stretching and beyond available to torture your epidermis.

The ideal I’m supposed to covet? A waxy Barbie head on a boy body – with boobs!

And what’s with the weird preoccupation with inflating lips like an allergic reaction?

I just can’t figure out how anyone started believing puffy duck-bills are a sexy facial accessory.

That summer my lip was literally stung by a bee, I don’t recall hearing any compliments.

But the idea that leaves me completely cold?

“Stop the signs of aging!”

Why?

What’s wrong with getting older? Why does it even need to be said that it beats the alternative?

Personally, I don’t think we’re supposed to be a 20-year-old version of ourselves forever.

What’s the point?

Never allowing our kids to be happy to be their own age? Or to think there’s nothing to look forward to?

Pointlessly competing, rather than claiming our right to love ourselves, as is, right now?

Why am I expected to feel dread about the opportunity to reach the half dollar mark alongside all my class of ’83 friends over the course of the next year?

Why can’t it be a high five?

I’m damn sure those we’ve lost along the way would like to be here to give us one.

Why aren’t we?

Of course maybe I’m really protesting too much, and I’m just jealous.

When your financial decisions tend to revolve around wondering how you’re going to afford both this month’s fuel oil bills and another round of orthodontia, the poison, plastic and scalpels budgets just seem to fly right out the window.

You won’t hear me say, “Screw the mortgage, I’ve got laugh lines!” anytime soon.

Beauty may be only skin deep,but God knows your wallet better be thicker than that if you want to keep up with the Star Joneses.

I guess I’m just going to have to learn to live with the disappointment of not becoming age-defying, Daisy Duck beautiful.

But at least my hair looks good.

And I’ll welcome that high five.