Called out of bridge this week. Had to. Just. Had to. Another excuse, another thing to make up later with Carol and Barb and Susan. They’ll understand. They always do. But will they? Will they *really*? It’s not a sick day. Not really. Just… a wrinkle. A NEW one. Right there. Next to my eye. A real one. Not the little ones that pop out when I laugh too hard at Susan’s stories. A deep one. A deep, DEEP line. Like a crack in the pavement. A permanent crack. Like I’m falling apart. My mom, she always says, “It’s just part of getting older, honey.” She says it every single day, every day. But it’s different for her. She earned those lines. She raised four kids, worked that job at the bank for 30 years, never complained. My lines… what have I *done* to earn them? Grocery shopping? Carpool? Making sure the lawn looks good for the HOA? It feels… undeserved. Like a punishment for something I didn’t even know I did wrong. And now everyone will see it. Everyone will SEE. I can just picture them. Carol, with her perfect skin, always putting on that expensive cream she talks about. Barb, who’s had some… work done… but you can barely tell, it’s so good. And Susan, she just doesn’t care, bless her heart. She’d probably just say, “Oh, honey, you look tired.” TIRED. That’s what they’ll think. Not that I’m old. Not that I’m fading. But that I’m *tired*. Like I can’t keep up. Like I’m not doing enough. The thought of them looking at me, really looking, and seeing that line… it just makes my stomach hurt. So I stayed home. Hid. What else was I supposed to do? What else could I do.