Given my formerly fraught relationship with my complexion, I’m not about to freak out if I spot a new crease. I can deal with fine lines. Although I will admit to being dismayed by the skin on my hands. Why, why did I never put sunscreen on them? When I hold up my toddler after her bath, my rough, mottled hands resemble the grasping claws of a falcon.
But mostly, I view my skin as a friend who tells you the truth about yourself when you’re not able to see it. One time, it even knew something before I did. I met my husband, Tom, on a blind date with a few friends who had set us up. At one point, Tom left our table to take a phone call, and I whispered to my friend that although he was cute and funny, I just didn’t think there was a spark. “Oh?” said my friend, smirking. “You could have fooled me. Every time you talk to the guy, you’re blushing like crazy.”