Last week, sorting through some piles of crap in preparation for another house move, I came across my first ten-year passport. (The one I had to report lost, after it found its way into said pile of crap).
I was 18 years old, and sporting a boyish crop. I’m smiling, my cheeks are rosy, and despite the fact that I already have a one-year-old child, I look fresh. The world is my oyster and I am ready to explore.
I took out my current passport to compare, where I’m 32 years old. Good grief, I wish I hadn’t. In this one I definitely look like I need a holiday, but that I probably don’t have the energy to pack a suitcase. What has happened?? I know I don’t photograph well, but this is ridiculous. You can almost see me sighing wearily.
Well dur, you might say, you’re 14 years older, of course you look worse, but it’s not even that. I could slap on any amount of anti-aging products and I’m not sure it would help – it’s the difference in the expression that concerns me more than any wrinkles. 14 years down the line and I look tired, like I can’t even be bothered to smile for the camera.It’s pretty scary.
A couple of days after I found this, I had to have my driver’s licence renewed, and I wasn’t going to be caught out in the same way again. As I stepped into the photo booth I tried to remember how it felt to be 18. Not much different I didn’t think. So I smiled anyway, and attempted to ooze youthful innocence and joy. (Not easy when you have a woman from the Post Office squawking ‘you can look pleased, but no teeth!’)
Hopefully this one will turn out a little better. Otherwise I think I’d better stock up on my anti-aging, Q10, plumping, firming creams. And maybe some prozac.
Don’t you just love getting older?