Just leave the wrinkles there, pal

I am 36. I grew up in Houston, Texas, was on the Maplewood Marlins' swim team and spent all day from May to early September in my backyard pool. We had no sunscreen besides zinc oxide; a goopy, clown-white, caulk-like substance used only once the nose was a 3rd-degree scabbed-over carrot.

I got wrinkles. I worked hard for them; crows' feet, laugh lines, age spots, dimple creases. They're there. My hands shock me in their appearance, as well. Like a baby with extra dough, my wrists are wrinkled now, too. Even the underpart which I know never got any uv-a or uv-b rays.

I am a comedian and not a supermodel so it's no big whoop. You could have 5 chins and a mullet but funny is no respector of appearances. ie; Carrot Top.

It had come time for new headshots for my promotional material. I contacted a great photographer here in Dallas and a week later, set out for my noon appointment. On the way there I got lost, got a ticket and was so frustrated, I cried all of my makeup off. I arrived at the studio and the photog says,"You may want to redo that makeup."

To which I replied, "I didn't bring any makeup."

Despite my emotional trauma and lack of makeup, I decided to forge ahead and leave the results to The Lord. He cares about headshots, you know. What can I say? My theology is completely practical.

The photographer seemed pleasantly surprised with the outcome as we reviewed the frames by computer.
"Ok, let's decide which ones we like and go from there." he said.
Not knowing if, "going from there," meant slapping the image on a coffe mug or burning them, I nodded in ignorant agreement.

We made our selections, then he emoted,
"Let's do the magic." He selected one photograph and with a click of his mouse he erased my smile lines, my tiny chin mole, my crows' feet and made my teeth neon white.

"What a beautiful person," I thought, "who is she?" She wasn't the college me, she looked different than that. The face was fuller and the eyes, wiser. No, she was a different person altogether. She was an uber-jinny and I was filled equally with admiration and disdain for her. At that moment, I was a bald man being offered a really great wig.

In a self-startling turn of events, I looked at the photographer and said,
"You can just leave the wrinkles."

"What? You want these just the way you are? Well, here, I can feather it really lightly so that you get some of the character but still look better." he compromised.

"No, I'm good."

And I felt good. I was truly amazed at my choice. Come to find out, I was pretty attached to my tiny chin mole and my rakey-looking forehead when my eyes flew wide open. Like that hilarious little blonde host on, 'Queer Eye for the Staright Guy' always says, "Who knew?"

Maybe, as my husband postulates, it's just way too much Oprah-intake, but, I had come to 'own' my wrinkles. I have surely looked much younger, much more glamorous and much thinner in my lifetime but oddly enough I had never been more content with my own imperfections.