The inevitable has happened. The insidious process has reached its conclusion. The final step has been taken, and the journey is over. I can deny it no longer. I have become my mother!
Despite our self-righteous cries as young girls that we will never be like her, one day we look in the mirror, and there she is, peering back at us.
This should not be shocking. Certainly our own aging process was genetically designed to parallel hers. Mine started in my twenties with the appearance of the first prematurely gray hairs. Which, by the way, I used to pull out. But this only works for so long, unless you prefer bald spots to gray patches. So I stopped pulling and started dying.