SOMETIMES, age has a way of creeping into a baby boomer’s psyche, making it hard to accept that we are no spring chickens. As we age, our face loses it contours and everything starts to droop until it all ends up around our jowl and neck.
Are we supposed to let age crawl all over us? Just jiggle the fat and swing the bat wings as we move the body? Surely there is nothing regal about being covered with wrinkles and age spots.
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