I was young then and my skin was tight and blemish-free. No wrinkles, no lines. My hair was shiny like the models on TV who toss and fluff their long locks to the beat of a youthful song that I can't always hear and seldom understand.

I was slim once, God. Not reed-thin like those models, but I was not fat. I had a waistline and I wore belts. Fat clothes? I didn't even know what they were.

Now I look at myself in the mirror and wonder who is that woman reflected back at me. Whoever she is, I'm not sure I like her. She's old. She's wrinkled. She's got a double chin and dull hair. She's wearing glasses.

Lord, I don't want to be young again. No sir, not in today's world. I would never be able to cope. But why do I have to look so worn out? Why can't I still be pretty?