I look into the mirror and my mother stares back at me. Well, not my actual mother. She’s not lurking behind me, suddenly appearing from the shadows of my bedroom to make me jump with a noisy ‘Boo!’.
No, I just look like my mother now. My green eyes are creasing at the sides, especially when I smile. I attempt this, then grimace. Not only do I have crow’s feet, but my forehead is wrinkling, and I’ve got jowls. Ugh!
This isn’t to say that my mother is unattractive. She is still considered a classic beauty, but somehow, though I know I look like her, I can’t see that appeal in my reflection. I just look like I am getting old.
Is 50 old? My daughter, Louise, thinks so, but she’s kind in how she phrases things.
‘Mum, that dress looks lovely, but do you think those shoes match?’
We are meeting to discuss her wedding (for about the 30th time). She is due to marry her childhood sweetheart, Ben, in two weeks. We
