I remember that first time I noticed the creases around my mouth. I must have been in my late twenties or thirties. Bewildered I stared into the mirror. They seemed to have sprung overnight. I smiled. I relaxed my face. I smiled more widely then relaxed my face again. They didn’t go away. Where had they come from?
Now I know they’re signs of aging and are called laugh lines or nasolabial folds.
Fast forward a decade plus years to the day my stomach feels unnaturally swollen. I am convinced I have a tumor. Alarmed, I cautiously manipulate my abdomen and determine to consult the family physicians about it.
No reason to panic I am assured. It was only middle-age spread. Embarrassed, I bought myself a hula hoop that very day promising myself that I would rather die than allow myself to thicken at the waist.
Recently while playing the Spelling Bee game, I was annoyed that the common word KINE was not on the list, but DINK was. I didn’t even know DINK was a word. I had been typing in all sorts of letter combinations, as I sometimes do, to uncover words I might otherwise miss.
Nonplussed, I turn to my husband whose vocabulary is greater than mine, “What does DINK mean?”
“Never heard the word. I’ll look it up.”
I wait.
He laughs scandalously, “Turns out we know quite a few ‘dinks.’ Some even in our family.”
Before emailing the game authorities to point out they’ve missed a word again, I look up the word KINE.
Guess what?
KINE - noun, ARCHAIC.
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