My Youth Mocking Me From a Picture Frame

I had to take my mother on an errand today. She no longer drives and I'm an awesome daughter and chauffeur. While I waited for her to put the finishing touches on her makeup, I wandered around her bedroom admiring the many framed pictures she has set about. The one on her nightstand caught my breath in my throat. It was me looking back at me. A youthful me. A junior year of high school me. Surprisingly, I don't look all that much different features-wise. And sadly, my hair hasn't changed all that much. It was just a little on the bigger side then (hey, it was the eighties) and slightly, um, darker. The eye makeup was heavier too, then. But the skin was smoother. Fuller. Tighter. No laugh lines. No creases. No crows feet. And there wasn't anything going on with my neck. I've been highly aware of my neck lately. It seems to suddenly have lines and creases that weren't there just days ago. I swear this aging thing happens over night sometimes. I have the beginnings of a disaster that I WILL pay to have corrected sometime in the future (or at some point start wearing turtle necks year round). That disaster is a turkey waddle. I come from a long line of waddlers. My mom. My grandmother. My great aunt. All waddlers. And since I'm a carbon copy of my mother; same bone structure, same frame, same jawline, same. Same. Same. Except her eyes are blue and I'm a couple inches taller. Agh! Looks like I'm getting the same wiggly piece of flesh that connects my chin to my neck. Does history HAVE to keep repeating itself? Can't it skip a generation? Haven't I been good to my skin? What's with the betrayal? Et tu Brute?