Help! My face has fallen and can’t get up!

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I’ve long suspected that death visits us while we sleep and strokes our faces, pinching and pulling as he whispers Gollum-like, “Oh, my precious.” How else explain this stretched out skin that has lost its elasticity.

 

The only other explanation is wanderlust. My cheeks once interested only in the world that was in front of my face have grown curious and want to see what’s below my jaw. I believe the common term for this is jowls (which rhymes with howls, which happens when I accidently look in the mirror).

Courtesy of Flickr user SuperFantastic

Courtesy of Flickr user SuperFantastic

My eyes have the same desire to travel. A large bag sits ready below each eye, awaiting the call to leave. When I was younger, my eyes would sometimes pack these bags; however, after a good night’s sleep they would empty their bags and settle down, prepared to face the world.  Now they are determined to bring as much as possible on the journey.

 

My ears, tired of being ignored and relegated to being a mere sideshow to my face, add cartilage every chance they get, racing to reach my shoulders before my jowls do. They’ve also started peeking out behind the curtain of hair that hangs over them. That curtain used to be thicker, but the bathroom floor is now a popular destination. It is widely believed by my hairs that the ones that reach the floor will get swept up in a kind of whirlwind once they get there. The rumors are true.

 

The result of my facial migration south is a face that only a bloodhound or possibly a Shar Pei could love. Thus, my eschewal* of selfies.

Courtesy of User:Ropompin on Wikimedia Creative Commons

Courtesy of User:Ropompin on Wikimedia Creative Commons

Each emotion I have felt has used my face for origami, folding and unfolding the skin to show joy, anger, disgust, delight, and a thousand other feelings. The creases are all permanent now and, outside of surgery, my former smoothery is possible only inside a wind tunnel.

 

Courtesy Pinterest user: Michele Gambone

Courtesy Pinterest user: Michele Gambone

 

*Use of the verb “eschew” calls for a piece ofchocolate. Use of the noun form “eschewal,”   calls for two pieces. You're welcome.

 

 

 

 

12 thoughts on “Help! My face has fallen and can’t get up!

  1. What a nice sight in my inbox! Good to see you!

    Rather than a bloodhound, more resemble a St. Bernard these days, or a Newfoundland. Wet. Jowly. Drooly. With a layer of fat one wouldn’t expect to find quite everywhere on the body.

  2. You haven’t lost your touch! I’ve missed you! To celebrate this glorious post, I think I’ll eschew a piece of chocolate with my morning coffee. Thanks for the good giggle.

  3. Whatever else is going on, your level of wit-and-wisdom hasn’t fallen in the slightest. Go ahead and chew on some chocolate, whose eschewal would be nigh unto tragic indeed! And there’s *my* cue. Race you to the chocolate stash!
    xo

  4. Always enjoy your humor, dear year stricken. What I worry about is that it’s harder to get a column of yours to chew on, than a piece of chocolate. So good to see you again.

  5. You get extra points for conjuring up the word “eschewal”. It’s always a delight to see your name pop up in my notifications, and as usual, my face has crinkles and wrinkles while I’m visiting your blog. I don’t know how you managed to find that windblown Shar Pei photo, but it’s PERFECT (thanks, google).

    Just this weekend, my oldest sister (65) was remarking that she’s “starting to get wrinkles on my neck”. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she may just now be noticing it, but those of us on the other side of the mirror could have told her that was happening about ten years ago! She’s well past the “starting to get wrinkles” stage. 🙂

    Not that I have any room to be talking. It has always slightly annoyed me that my permanent facial grooves have a predominantly downward turn. I don’t mind having wrinkles, (really, I don’t), but can’t they be happy wrinkles instead of pouty wrinkles? I would much prefer to die with a smile on my face, rather than this sad dog droop that lives around the corners of my mouth. Guess I’m going to have to practice constant smiling … like coming over here to your blog for a visit. Always good to see you … hope you (and your fallen face) are doing well. Hugs! 🙂

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