Letters to the Editor
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Taking her licks...
Well the LW has preempted any attempt on the part of regular male readers of this feature to tell her she had it coming as her punishment for being beautiful, but these words will not come from me, because I have often thought the same thing.
Women are like flowers. Each one comes into bloom and has her day in the sun. Some are annuals and quickly run to seed or bloat beyond recognition. Others are perennials that seem ageless. In Shakey's Antony and Cleopatra, they say of the Egyptian queen:
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety...
and so it may seem for a while, but the truth is that every juicy young woman eventually becomes a withered crone, none more so than those who strike a Faustian bargain with the plastic surgeon. The wrinkles disappear in exchange for looking like a piece of taxidermy, and no one beyond the looking-glass is fooled.
Men are a little more durable. Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady says "men are a marvellous sex", but we eventually droop and our heads fall and our molecules are recycled just the same as women.
The truth is that we pursue happiness for a while, and then we are pursued by the grim reaper, and though we may dodge and hide for a while, the result is a forgone conclusion.
This is why we have religion to cheer us up. O, Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
Believing that there is a better life ahead is some consolation for aging, even if we don't really, really believe it.
In the end, you have to give it to the Old Testament prophet to tell it like it is:
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
What profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun?
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever...
Anyway, thanks to the LW for reminding us that we all have one foot in the grave. Sometimes we forget for a few moments, and we need to be brought back on task.
See you on the other side, LW.