My forehead is developing permanent furrows that make me look like I'm perma-pissed. My melasma bears an uncanny resemblance to Hitler. My grey hairs could rival Paula Deen's. My sore back acts like I've been hunched over in the trenches for the past 10 years. My yellow teeth look like I brush with Country Crock. My bloodshot eyes probably make you think I've been hanging out with both Cheech and Chong.
Today is my birthday. I'm 33.