In the 70’s, when I was a wee babe in Australia, if anyone made it out the door wearing any type of sunscreen it was a major miracle. Luckily, I was so pale that I bordered on transparent, AND my dad worked for Estee Lauder; so there was a small semblance of knowledge about the sun and it’s effects, though sadly not enough! Now in my mid-40’s, it’s so easy to go down the bathroom-mirror rabbit hole, where I scrutinize every broken capillary, every crease and every freckle (“that wasn’t there yesterday!!”). For the record: this behavior gets me nowhere except making me want to Sylvia Plath my way to the closest oven.