For those of you eagerly anticipating my first-ever Downton Abbey recap, alas, this isn’t it.
Hubby would only let me watch the first hour before he called lights out, and then proceeded to scroll through roughly eight zillion financial websites on his laptop before officially shutting down Hubby + Wifey Central.
Thus, I must watch the second hour tonight. And while I was literally screaming at the telly during the initial 50 minutes – poor Bates and Anna! – I need to get the full lay of the land before I can do the episode proper justice.
In the meantime, I simply must sing Elizabeth McGovern‘s praises from the rafters.
She was always gorgeous; that isn’t even remotely up for debate.
And now she is an equally luminous 50-year-old woman who is giving hope to all of us who aren’t completely convinced that shooting our faces full of Botox and fillers is the best way to sail into our futures.
Granted, I have no idea what McGovern, who plays the warm and charming matriarch Lady Grantham, does of a beauty nature. For all I know, she’s at the dermatologist for injections every other week.
But I doubt it. Because unlike so many actresses, she actually looks her age.
Of course, when she’s in a scene with the crinkly-fabulous Maggie Smith, McGovern looks like a young hottie in comparison. But when she’s with her TV daughters she just looks like a blissed-out, well-dressed mama hen clucking over her unlined chicks. The antithesis, in other words, of a Real Housewife jamming herself into a pair of bedazzled jeans.
Last night, while I was watching McGovern, I wanted to reach through the flatscreen and give her a massive hug for showing us there is indeed another way to go about this aging business. Writing this blog post is the digital version of that thank-you snuggle.