In Praise of My Eyebrows

It made me laugh out loud. It made me sorry we gals don't appreciate our hotness and tautness while we've got 'em. And it also made me wonder:

Would it be possible to commit — from age 40 on — to cherishing what's right about our bodies, rather than lamenting what's gone wrong? What would it feel like to focus on what's miraculously intact, instead of what's unfairly undone?

Never mind the frown lines forming around your thinning lips; when's the last time you holla'd a "Hallelujah" for your mad-gorgeous cheekbones and long, graceful neck? Sagging boobs and dimpled thighs be damned; check out that painterly curve on your remarkable (don't deny it) derriere.

Is it just human nature to miss what's gone (sigh, soft feet), even when there's still plenty to savor (rockin' bare shoulders)? Or could a former midriff-baring, cutoff shorts-wearing, bra-evading forty-something get in the happy new habit of greeting each day naked in front of a mirror and proclaiming, "Hot SMOKE, my eyebrows are sexy!"?

Maybe it's impossible. Maybe such mental exercise would rival the physical strains of marathon-running. But if I can swing it, I'll really accomplish something worth celebrating.

Does Prevention have a "50 Under 50" issue?.

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