From the Grass Roots

NICE bags you carry your eyes in." This was the complimentary remark my husband used to pass on the "mourning" after. Indeed, as I looked in the mirror I used to groan myself. Instead of the full-bloomed thirties I looked a haggard forty. No skilful application of powder base or any of the cosmetics so advertised on the market could erase the wrinkles and crows' feet that were apparent on my sad looking face. Not only did I look it but, brother, did I feel it! Each day dragging myself around was a real hardship. Life was just existing. There was no reason for me to even try to hide my approaching age.