Coup de grace

I have smile lines.  A LOT of smile lines.  Because I live with someone who makes me laugh day in and day out.

I have a million sun spots - because I've had a sizzling, hot love affair with the sun for many years.

I have acne.  I will until the day I die, possibly even longer.

I used to have a mustache but it has lightened and thinned . . . and migrated down to my chin.

I went into the dermatologist to show him a weird scaly spot that I was sure had cancer written all over it.  After inspecting it for all of 2 seconds he informed me that it had "age" written all over it.

I just had a physical for my health insurance.  It was only after the nurse measured my waist that I finally understood why the fly on my jeans wasn't lying flat.  It just so happens they are exactly one inch smaller than my waist.

I went to the eye doctor.  "I think my eyesight is going bad from looking at my iPhone too much."  "You're eyesight is bad because you're 41" he said as he wrote out a RX for lenses.

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At the temple this morning the middle aged sister behind the desk gestured to my friend and asked if she was my daughter.

Yes.
She's my daughter.
I gave birth to her when I was 1 year old.
It was crazy.
 
A coup de grâce (/ˌkuː də ˈɡrɑːs/; French for "blow of mercy") is a death blow to end the suffering of a severely wounded person or animal.

I'm in a bad way.

And just so you know this isn't the first, but the SECOND time this has happened to me.  When visiting my sister-in-law just after she'd given birth (6 yrs ago) the bishop's wife (who was also visiting at the time) asked me if I was her mother.  Bad, bad day.