The aging process has so far been good to me. At least I think so and really, isn't that all that matters for any of us? Friends may behind my back say, 'Wow, those wrinkles weren't there before. Jane's starting to show her age." As time marches on, these are the same thoughts all of us have had - c'mon, 'fess up - about our friends, particularly those we see infrequently.

But when I look in the mirror, the wrinkles on my face seem insignificant - noticeable but not to the point of detracting from my appearance. Finally, I've found an solution to lifelong acne, and a hairdo that I think looks classier and more controlled than any I've had to date. I weigh less and am in better shape at 42 than when I was 22. In my wee little brain, I believe I am more attractive now than I have ever been.

Except for my neck.

During the past year, I've noticed this ever-more-undeniable loose flap of skin under my chin. This is the first sign of aging that I consider unacceptable. In fact, it's the first sign of aging I've really even noticed.

Gray hair? Color it. Flabby muscles skin? Work it. Wrinkles? Recognize that most of them are the side effects of smiling. Moisture, then just go with it. My boobs? For once, being small is an advantage. There isn't enough there to sag. Even though they are painfully idle and woefully unappreciated, my girls look just as girlish as ever. Because I'm genetically programmed to be lean, cellulite is only a small annoyance. I'm lucky, I know, to have escaped these other indicators of change and aging.

But there are some things from which none of us can run.

And that's why this neck thing so alarms me.

I can't massage it, weight-lift it, Miracle-Bra it, moisturize it or color it away. It is a piece of me giving in to gravity. It is not small, like a wrinkle, or also like a wrinkle, something that can be charmingly categorized as "a laugh line."

It is only the beginning, I know. The other sections of skin are watching this first one, thinking, 'If she did it, we can, too!' Soon, they'll all relax and let go and my neck will resemble that of a turkey.

Nora Ephron writes about this in a new book called, "I Feel Bad About My Neck, and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman." I picked up this book at the library, strictly because of its title. Ephron notes that all her friends are now wearing turtlenecks or artfully draped scarves in an attempt to cover their wrinkled necks. She writes in a light, chipper style that I enjoy until she goes off into some tangent about a famous chef and celebrity dinners, at which point I became bored with it and returned it. She also wrote that she had inquired about plastic surgery for her neck, but was told the only way to remove neck wrinkles is to have an entire face lift - a costly and far more serious surgery.

Suddenly, I am watching women in a different way. I am looking not at their faces, their bodies or their bearing. I am scanning their necks for signs of droopage.

Nancy Pelosi has very little, which surely means she had some sort of neck - and face - work. C'mon, the woman is 60!

Cathy Sabine, longtime Channel 9 news babe, has some slightly relaxed skin under her chin. I somewhat suspect Cathy has had a bit of plastic surgery. She is even more beautiful than when she began with Channel 9, and has been around too long to look that damn good. Face work, but I think not neck tightening. I am grateful to her for leaving that part of her anatomy untouched.

For the first time last weekend, I noticed that the neck belonging to an ex-in-law of mine, only a few years older than me, has betrayed her, too, and to a far greater degree than mine. How far behind can I be? Like me, she is a divorced mother with no assistance from her ex-husband. I speculate that higher-than-average stress - the carrying of tension in the jaw - can hasten this whole ghastly process. Her older sister, for instance, happily married and with two A student sons, has a graceful, smooth neck. What other explanation for this difference can there be?

And how can I alleviate such stress and save my neck? Hell if I know but a drink seems a damn fine place to start.

Now that I've had a couple of drinks, I realize that the other solution, of course, is to lay down. A lot. Take the huge weight that is my mighty brain off my neck completely. Instead of sitting up to watch TV, I should slouch, or better yet, recline. In which case, I'll need a La-Z Boy. I should use the headrest in my car exactly as its name suggests. I should sleep more. Which unfortunately means exercising less, which could mean cellulite, flabby muscles and all those other signs of deterioration. Which is the greater evil? What's a 42-year-old woman to do?

None of this would seem so critical if I were not still "on the market." But until I snare a man, maintenance remains high. I am, as Terry McMilan so beautifully phrased it, waiting to exhale. Once the man's firmly in my grasp, my neck -- and all the rest of me -- can relax. You might call it bait and switch. But when you all meet him, please don't tell him that's my evil plan. Wait, at least, until the wedding reception.

Meanwhile, when next you see me, try not to stare at the weary tendons flapping sadly beneath my chin. If I have my way, you'll be far too distracted by new fashion sense to notice. Mostly because this contemporary touch will hide it.

Denver's adult education forum, Colorado Free University, is offering a class: "Tie One On: The Fine Art of Scarves," all about learning how to wear a scarf. I've always been intrigued by scarves, and admired those who know how to wear them. In the past, I figured these women were trying to make a fashion statement, to add flash to an otherwise unremarkable outfit.

Now I think I know the truth and will look more closely in the future. Those who wear scarves so well, and the women who'll be in this class, all are no less than 37. All have that slightly panicked look in their eyes, the realization that time is on their heels. I will be perfectly at home here.

I will sign up, I think, tomorrow.

For the moment, all this thought is making my head hurt. That or the half bottle of wine I've consumed while penning this intellectual heavyweight of a blog entry. Clearly, I should rest my head, think some more on this and buy my neck some time.