When your face looks like it has worn out a dozen bodies then it’s time to own up to it, and act your age.

You may have to stand in front of a Dr Pepper display for a couple of minutes before someone responds to your Poor Pitiful Pearl look and puts two 24-packs of pop in your cart, but you’ve got the time. You’re not catching a train or plane.

Sometimes a wife will elbow her husband into giving you a hand, but lately I just smile sweetly and ask for help from a passerby.

I wipe away that smile when I’m in the checkout stand and a clerk gives me The Look as she scans my anti-aging cream. Someday I’m going to say it’s for my grandmother.

Gone are the days when I bought dental and bladder leak products for family, and gag gifts for friends who turned 65. But I digress.

Clothes shopping is a problem these days. Tops are cut down to where your navel used to be which means wrinkled cleavage is exposed. Same goes for sleeveless tops that show off your floppy under arm angel wings.

Now that fall is here it will be easier to find warm and comfy jogging pants and tops that double for pajamas, and you can wear them for several days and nights.

Wish me luck in hiding my sagging wrinkled turkey neck that probably appeared years ago, but I’m just now seeing it since my cataract surgery.

Same goes for my bank drafts on insurance and utilities.

That’s why I decided to buy a lottery ticket along with my submarine sandwich. The clerk rang it up then asked for my ID.

I laughed.

“I need to see your ID,” she said, and I could tell she was serious as a heart attack.

That’s when I acted my age and threw a fit: “Can’t you see my gray hair?” I yelled.

All I got was The Look from her and hundreds of people behind me in line.

One gray-haired woman buying beer said to me, “I always carry my ID.”

So I went to the car and got my license. That’s when I remembered I don’t have gray hair, thanks to my hairdresser.

Boy howdy did I ever feel stupid.