My midlife crisis

I am 23 years old.  Not very old, at least I don't think so.  Now, I've had some time to experience life.  I've gone to school, moved out of my parents house, cooked a meal by myself and even paid to do my own laundry.  I've visited foreign countries and learned a different language.  I've gotten married and survived almost 3 years of marriage.

Despite these facts however, I still do not consider myself very old.  I'm still Stephanie, the dorky girl who always questions everything she does or says.  I get pimples, big ones, on the inside of my nose where they really really hurt if you forget that they are there and accidentally scratch your nose.  I feel like I hardly know myself or what I want to do with my life.

For all intents and purposes, then, it sounds like I am a young adult.  A YOUNG adult.  Why oh why, then, am I going grey???  I am going grey!  Isn't that supposed to start happening in your late 30's?  Like, 39 or 40ish?  And I am not talking about a stray strand of grey hair.  I'm not even talking about two strands of grey hair.  I'm talking like 9 or 10 strands!  10 strands is not an accident, folks.  It's your body's way of telling you that you are aging...and about to keel over and die. 

In ADDITION to this, I have now developed cellulite on my calves.  This is so depressing.  I've been dealing with cellulite in the gluteus maximus/quadriceps area for quite a while now.  I've come to accept this fact, and learn to live with it.  But on my calves??  People can see my calves!  Am I destined to wear pants for the rest of my apparently short life that I have yet to live?  It seems I am. 


Part of me says, "Stephanie stop freaking out and come to terms with this.  Aging is a natural bodily process, and something that happens to everyone.  You're going to have to accept this sooner or later and apparently, for you, this means sooner.  Be classy and go grey in style.  Don't yearn to cover it up with hair chemicals and products--embrace your grey."

Another part of me wants to tell that first part of me to shut it.  I would be perfectly willing to accept my fate, if that fate showed up at 30 something.   But 23?  Seriously?

 Goodbye, sweet young Stephanie.  Au revior young fountain of youth. 

 It seems we may never meet again, and it feels like I hardly got to know you.  This cruel world stripped you from me and made our relationship something to be laughed at.

Please know that I will always remember you, and think of what could have been.  We could have been together for a long, long time.  I would have cherished you in my ancient years, and we would have been like spring chickens, clucking and pecking about.

But now, if things keep going the way that they are going, it seems like I am destined to die--at the ancient age of 42.  My body may be shriveled and wizened by then, but the memory of you will live on.
 

The weird thing is, before this, I always thought people got better looking as they got older.  I thought age was an attractive quality.  Then it started happening to me, and that went straight out the window.