Dear Betty:

On one of those shows I cannot stop watching, a woman with bright orange hair and purple glasses told the audience that we had to go to our bedroom, light a candle, take off our clothes, and accept our bodies.

I got as far as my shirt and my shoes before my knees began to ache and I had to sit down.

I am 64 years old outside of my body, but inside, I feel young. You could see that.

But Roy wanted something, someone, who was the same inside and out.

I walk the streets where I was young and pretty once and the men look right through me. I am invisible to them. The younger women pretend not to see me, pretend that I am not their future.

I look back at the older women, and pray that I will not suffer.