I whined. I complained. I offered chocolate. But it didn't matter. My three blog-buddies are making me write our first official blog. And why are they making me go first? Because they're busy writing novels while I, poor slouch that I am, have no writing contracts at the moment. If anything, should this not entitle me to a pity party?

But fortunately, I do have something to write about today. It concerns a shocking discovery I had upon wakening this morning. But before I go there, let me tell you a little background to help you understand. I'm not old. I'm thirty-six, and while that's way beyond the giggle-induced slumber-party age, I'm hardly a card-carrying member of the AARP either. So, I'm middle-aged, but I have genes on my side. My parents are both youthful-looking, and I inherited a small frame with a small head and face to match which has always given me a young-kid look. (I realized I had a small head when my oldest son was seven. His hat fit me, and I have worn it ever since.)

But back to my shocking discovery. It occurred when I looked in the mirror (as most shocking discoveries do.) Now, my eyes are a little bleary in the morning, and I don't see well until I use eye drops. So after this routine action, I glance in the mirror on my way out to wake my three boys.

I stop. I stare. This can't be.

My eyebrows have slid down my face. Yes, slid, like a California mud slide. And in their journey south they have pushed the skin of my delicate eye area--this is what all the face creams call it, although I never understood why until today--into a sagging skin-tent over my eyes. I look closer. I press on the skin. I use my index finger to lift up my brows into their rightful position . . . ah, there we go. I release my brows. A tent. Without the stakes. It sags at an angle, hiding my eyelids altogether and distorting the shape of my brown eyes. Lovely.

It's happening. I'm aging--overnight, apparently--and it really bothers me. I might try some creams for my "delicate eye area", but honestly, I'm not holding out much hope. For now, I walk away from the mirror and tell myself to get used to it. My eyes have an awning now, and I have a feeling God's not going to be rolling it up anytime soon.