Happy Face

I was watching an old episode of I Found the Gown; a mother and daughter team came in. The daughter wasn't probably that old, but her face was carved with deep grooves. She was obviously resentful of her happy-go-lucky mother, who smiled cheerfully while her angry daughter, mother herself to nearly grown children, barked "We're bonding!" in a way that felt a tad violent. 

When one reaches a certain age, the refusal to smile has visisbly left its mark. There aren't just wrinkles, there are crevasses. Bitterness doesn't just percolate below the surface; its festering juices gnaws away at the epidermis. 

No lipstick can save you now.

In my hope for happy skin, I must be happy myself; potions alone won't do the trick, as Jane E. Brody informed me in "A Youthful Glow, Radiating From Within." 

Since I have gentically anxious tendencies, I have become aware of the concept of cortisol, that harrowing hormone that bubbles away in times of stress, reeking inflammatory havoc on the body. I have therefore attempted to de-stress my life as much as possible, of course factoring in unavoidable nerve-wracking situations, but my produce-based diet hopefully churns out enough antioxdants to neutralize the worst of the damage. 

Remember to smile, dammit!