I’m 29. I’ve been blessed with a great complexion all my life. I’m not gonna lie to you —it’s been practically flawless. Small pores. Few pimples. No acne. Good genes. I’ve been very lucky. But, I’ve taken care of my skin.

As a child, I smoothed on my mother’s expensive department store crèmes while she wasn’t looking, and, by age 12, had developed a precociously proactive stance on aging. I knew I had nice, baby soft skin, and I intended to keep it that way.

So, throughout my teens, I skipped the tanning beds, stayed out of the sun, and endured being the pale, pasty girl amidst a throng of sun-kissed beauties. Into my twenties, I wore regular SPF, always carried bottled water, avoided cigarettes, and rarely indulged in alcohol. 

I did it all for what I thought would be the ultimately payoff: sitting around 40 years later at my high school reunion, with girls who had baked their skin beyond recognition, while I, the fortunate one, had still retained the dewiness of youth.

So, you can imagine my horror when, just weeks after my 28^th birthday, I noticed a strange crease under my eye while applying foundation. Could it be? No way. It’s the, um, harsh winter we’re having. (Never mind last year was one of the mildest on record.)

A week later, it was still there—a fine line extending out from under the pupil, resembling that of my mother’s, and her mother’s before her. “But I’m only 28!” I cried. “I’m too young to get wrinkles! I haven’t even finished paying off my student loans!”

Hoping for a weird dermatological fluke, I waited for it to straighten out. But, it didn’t. In fact, it mocked me every time I tried to cover it up, drawing more attention to its out-of-place existence by making itself bigger, darker, more visible.

Incredulous at its dogged determinism to show its face on my face, I called up the dermatologist and explained that this new alpha-whatever was wreaking havoc. Could she prescribe something gentler?

She did, but nothing could erase that stubborn wrinkle that now, upon further inspection, was producing a cobweb of fine baby wrinkles, new arrivals, that appeared to be on the way. Oh God, it was truly inevitable. The beginning of crow’s feet.

Not ready to settle into defeat, I sat at the foot of my vanity, staring these unwanted inhabitants in the face. I tried to determine the exact origin of their arrival. I scowled. I smiled. I laughed. I cried. When I turned up the ends of my mouth, it revealed their evolution — a smile.

It was an imprint of joy on my face, not sadness. A memento of good times I was to carry, not heartache. 

This made me smile, again.

I would not go through life with a permanent scowl on my face. This wrinkle would be a testament to a life well lived. I remembered the people and places that had helped make it so, and I welcomed this tiny new visitor into my domain.

But don’t forget, three’s a crowd.

About the Author:  Nicole Nader Gabor

Nicole Nader Gabor is an award-winning health writer and editor. She is currently senior editor of Parents at KidsHealth.org, the Web’s most visited site for children’s health.

As a fiction writer, Nicole has published children’s books Deedee the Dinosaur and Let’s Visit the Louvre! (Unibooks, Inc.). She recently completed her first teen novel Waif, and is actively seeking representation.