It finally happened. That thing she swore would never
happen to her, no matter how old she got.
That thing where women of a certain age look at
themselves and think, “I hate this about me and I’m going to change it and make
it look younger.”
It wasn’t her hair. She loved that it was going gray.
It wasn’t her breasts. As long as they were comfortable
and contained, she was happy with them.
It wasn’t her tummy. That tummy had grown three whole-ass
human beings. It was fine.
She sighed and made appointments to get her tattoos
re-done.
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