My hair is grey. My midriff is expanding. My bones ache. I still have combination skin. I’m more than halfway through my career and probably my life.
I should be driving around in a sports car by now, having traded in my first spouse for a second, younger model. Instead, I’m caring from my 11-year-old daughter and taking my parents to doctor appointments. And the sports car? Forget it. I drive a car with a big enough boot to fit my groceries AND the stuff that needs to go to the tip. That’s sexy.
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