In the 1970s I was riding down a California highway with my aunt and uncle when the song You’re So Vain came across the airways. My uncle turned and said, “Amy, this song is about you.”   I was 13 years old and didn’t know what to make of his comment.

What would my uncle have to say now that I’m a half-a-century-old and the desire to look good remains as close to me as my own skin?

And what would he have to say if he saw my face this morning?

The laser procedure I did a few days ago layered a strikingly-colorful series of tic-tac-toe patches all over my face. I knew it looked really bad when the clerk ringing up my eight bags of frozen peas (for the swelling) averted his gaze and when my husband recoiled and yelled when he saw me. I’ve been dabbling with cosmetic procedures for years and sometimes I go – well – a little too far.  

Which is why I look like I got in a fight with a waffle iron.

It isn’t that I'm trying to look 25 years old, but I am a little afraid of aging, of looking old. Vanity. My uncle caught me off guard with the concept 40 years ago.  And now?

I'll keep moving and try new things.  It’s part of this little road-trip called Amy’s life. 

That song was about me, after all.