This Face--it's a Curse

I don't feel bad about my neck, but I do feel slightly negative about my chin. I used to have one. Now it is a notion buried in wattle or dewlap or whatever you call the sagging of cheeks to chin line. The collagen that's failing me now makes my face begin to resemble a frowning bulldog. And I have the canines to make this passing resemblance something a little more than fleeting. Pictures of my Cooney relatives in their 60s had this chin, this downward arch imprinted on their lower faces whether they were frowners or not. It's an old wives' tale that making certain facial expressions will make your face stay that way. You have no choice which expression you'll be staring at in the mirror decades from now. I knew I'd never have the pursed lip cinch of my grandmother. I intended never to be so judgmental, and I haven't been. But there they are, little lines around the mouth that when I'm not smiling make it look as though I disapprove. Of everything. Of you, your idiotic fashion statement, your favorite movie, your best effort at poetry. My face betrays me every day. I do not feel what it constantly shouts at people. This face--it's a curse!