Someday I Really WILL Be an Irish Hag...

"You're 26?  Daaang.  That's almost 30!"

"You're going to get old, and wrinkly, and saggy... you better hurry up and get married before nobody wants you!"

Didn't I tell you teachers had to be thick-skinned?  These comments from the mouths of my students on a Friday afternoon could reduce a lesser woman to tears.  But not I... not I.  I simply shook my head, rolled my eyes, and chalked it up to adolescent brain damage.

Of course, as I drove home, those words echoed in my ears.  I wasn't hurt; the words weren't spoken maliciously.  They were an attempt at humor, and I didn't mind.  It really is funny though; those exact words have come to my mind, and it was bizarre to have them uttered aloud.

Sometimes, when I get ready in the morning and look in the mirror, all I see are the tiny lines starting to form around my eyes and the sides of my mouth.  Oh, and that one that's starting to form above my left eyebrow because that's the one I use for the "cocked brow."  Sure, they're just evidence of many a laugh-fest and thousands of genuine smiles, but on a bad day, they seem more like reasons for a man to skip over me.

Don't make fun of me because I'm in my twenties and think about these things.  I'll bet I'm not the only one.  I realize I'm still relatively young, but my relative youth is no comfort at times like these.  It's not that I fear getting old, necessarily, or even wrinkles themselves.  It's the fear that getting old is going to be the reason I get passed over for a relationship.  It's the fear that the little lines forming around my eyes and mouth will cause men to think, "Hm, maybe I could get a newer model; this one needs a new paint job."

Yes, I realize this is irrational for several reasons (are you starting to see a pattern here?  I have irrational fears that I understand are completely irrational yet blog about them just the same, because maybe, just maybe, there are other single women out there who feel the same way).  First, God is in control and even if I am eighty-three years old and have a face that looks like a catcher's mit, God could still bring me the man of my dreams.  Secondly, the "man of my dreams" won't care about the lines forming by my eyes and mouth.  In fact, he may appreciate them and will definitely add more.  The right man won't pass over me because I'm getting old.  He'll appreciate me like a vintage car, which everyone knows is worth more than a newer model anyway.

Maybe he'll even think this, which would be awesome:

As long as he doesn't sing it, of course.  Because when guys serenade girls it's always hilarious, even if they're trying to be romantic and not funny.

So maybe my students are right.  Oh well.  But then perhaps there will be someone in my life someday who sees the "young woman" instead of the "old hag."  Hope so.