AARP Eye Center
I live in suburbia — home to barbecues and book clubs, malls and multiplexes, country clubs, cul-de-sacs and Costcos the size of Connecticut. The occupants of those precincts will be out in force this Saturday, as SUVs all over town disgorge 50-plus types eager to communally celebrate our national…
Getting married for the second or third time at 50, we shimmy down the aisle with attitude. Farewell, big white fairy-tale gowns! So long, uptight updos — and any and all rules about what’s “appropriate.”
Three marriages — and lots of “empirical dating research” in between — have led me to a conclusion or two about men.
Bloomers are booming—and I’m flipping out.
Peel off my skinny jeans and you’ll find some colorful secrets: blue ropy veins, red spider capillaries and brown spots. (As for those wobbly inner thighs that even my killer spin classes can’t seem to firm up, let’s not go there.)
In English | Las mujeres —incluso las mujeres inteligentes como tú y yo— hacen trampa cuando de protector solar se trata.
En español | Women — even smart ones like you and me — cheat on their sunscreen.
Every summer my postmenopausal body and I play a little game I like to call Find the Swimsuit:
If wrinkles are welcome houseguests, adding dimension to my dimply smile, then brown spots and red splotches are uninvited couch potatoes, lounging on my cheeks and forehead.
My daughters, Alexandra and Jennifer (right) , sure hit the gene jackpot: As heirs to my beauty and fashion sense, my steely self-confidence, my quick wit and collection of Chanel bags, these are two lucky babes, let me tell you.