I have a big ol' line right between my eyebrows. Seriously, I'm thinking that with some deft maneuvering, I could probably open a bottle of beer with it.
It's been there as long as I can remember. My 7th grade English teacher first brought it to my attention. We were reading some book, and the phrase "worry line" was used. Miss Judge (for real) asked the class if anyone knew what a "worry line" was. No one fathomed a guess. She walked up to my desk, pointed at the faint line between my eyes and said, "Look at Jenny. She has a worry line between her eyes. It's what happens when you worry about things."
Hello, Mr. Insecurity. So very nice to make your acquaintance.
Since then, my worry line and I have become old friends. It's like a barometer that I wear on my face for all the world to see. The more stressed I am, the deeper it gets.
One of my darling children once said to me, "Mommy, you are so pretty. 'Cept when you get mad and then that mean crack shows."
Mommy's Mean Crack. I could go so many ways with this one.
I've learned to live with it. Because, after all, it's not like the woman who has a $45 grocery budget this week is going to make any appointments with a plastic surgeon any time soon. Besides, I wonder what they'd do with it? One friend suggested Botox. But I don't know if I would want to paralyze my eyebrows. I like showing emotion, even if the emotions I'm showing can flit between obliviously ignorant happiness to various levels of fear and loathing in a matter of minutes. It's me.
I'm thinking it's more of a collagen filler candidate. And then I worry that I'd have some misshapen Neanderthal ridge where once I had a deep angry line. Not exactly win-win.
And so, like I'm trying to do with everything else in my life that is not within my power to change, I'm learning to live with it. When a little girl at school asked me if I had a cut between my eyes, I just said, "Nope. It's a worry line."
When one of my BFF's constantly points it out (seriously, I love this chick but she can't let this one go), which she does with alarming frequency, I am learning to just shrug it off. "MY GOD THAT'S LIKE A DIMPLE BETWEEN YOUR EYES, WOMAN!" she'll say. Instead of my past reaction, which was to cover it in shame and bemoan the fact that I have a big long ass crack on my face, I just say, "Yep. It's exactly like a dimple." And then I take a sip of wine.
Do I like the fact that it's the first thing I see in every picture someone takes of me? No. Do I like the fact that sometimes Mother Nature plays a hilarious prank and puts a big zit at the top of the line so it looks like I have a lowercase i on my forehead? Not so much.
But it could be worse. As always, as with every single problem I have in my life, it could be worse.
Besides, you should see the party trick I do where I hold a quarter in it...priceless.
Own your flaws, my friends. If it's something you can change, do it. If it's something that is part of who you are, like short legs or freakishly small shoulders (another one of mine..I have yet to find a purse that doesn't slooowly slip off my tiny shoulders), then you OWN it. I guarantee that the people in your life love you just the way you are.
Cracks and all.