I’ve always said I would never, ever have plastic surgery, but since I’ll be turning 59 in a few months, I’m considering changing my mind. What if I were to renovate here and there like sanding the floors or painting my living room. It’s not as though my floors look that bad, however they are a little scuffed. Would it be so terrible if I were to buff them, just a tiny bit?
My friends Camille and Joanne, who pop in and out of the surgeon’s office like it was the corner deli, are more than a little encouraging. Camille has even offered to give me one of her half price Botox coupons to get me started. Now that’s a pal. Instead of 850 bucks a shot it will cost 425 – sure sounds like a steal to me. My only fear, besides debtor’s prison, is that I’ll come back looking like a piece of crockery.
Camille insists I won’t, but what she doesn’t seem to realize is that she hasn’t thrown her head back and had a good laugh in quite some time. This is an issue for me. I know a woman needs to make sacrifices for her looks but a frozen face may be too high a price to pay to maintain a youthful appearance.
“Oh Susannah, you’re over a half century old,” said Joanne, “don’t you think you’ve laughed enough?”
“No, not when you consider menopause with all her bells and whistles I don’t. Furthermore, women can never, ever truly laugh enough.”
Yes, I would love to look 40 again, who wouldn’t, and what’s a few hundred dollars every couple of months especially if you put it on your Brooks Brothers Platinum Mastercard and accrue points. Not only will you have a face that could double as a surfboard but you’ll get a blazer out of it too. Even my mother would have liked that idea.
“You don’t have to get Botox, you can always have a little fat transfer,” suggested Joanne whose rear end is now facing front. After they knocked her out with what she seems to think was Helium, they siphoned a little lard from her more than willing derrière then slyly injected it along her nose line. What will they think of next?
“I just assumed you’d love the idea,” said Joanne, “all that recycling.”
“Well, that’s certainly one way of looking at it,” I said, examining her (front) cheeks that at certain angles make her resemble a squirrel.
“You don’t have much fat Susannah, not since you gave up sugar and carbs,” said Camille, who at this point hadn’t said much. “You may need a donor.”
We both looked at Joanne.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m getting that deflated look my mother had.”
“You make her sound like a flat tire,” said Camille, “besides, I always thought your mother looked pretty damned good considering she lived on lasagna, Jell-O and scotch.
“The liquor probably preserved her,” said Joanne, “like a big pickle.”
“What about a minor clean up under the eye,” said Camille. “You can get rid of those little fatty deposits that have taken up residence.”
“What deposits are we referring to,” I said, digging out my mirror in a panic.
“Your satchels Susannah,” said Joanne, “we all have them. I like to call them little Louis Vuittons or in your case, L.L. Bean Boat and Totes.”
“So now my eyes have carry-on bags? How nice of you to tell me.”
“Get over it,” snapped Camille, “God knows it’s easy enough to fix and just think, you’ll come out looking incredibly rested – like you went on a nice, long cruise.”
“And that’s what you can tell everybody,” added Joanne, “since you’ll want to stay home for a couple of weeks due to bruising.”
“Omigod, you have no idea…”
“Joanne!” Camille tried cutting her off at the pass.
“You look like a battered raccoon when it’s over. I remember scaring the hell out of the pizza boy.”
“Well forget that,” I said, “whipping on my Raybans. “I’ll just have to live with my Boat and Totes and let that be that. Joanne, why is it I can’t recall you having your eyes done?”
“Sure you can, you just thought I was on a cruise.”
Camille winked across the table.
“See how easy it would be, and to my recollection, when you turned the big five -0, you were thinking about doing it then as minute as they were.”
“Yeah, and what I recollect is, someone we all know and no longer trust, saying it was just like getting your teeth cleaned.”
“It is,” said Joanne, “except the hygienist takes longer.”
“I suggest,” said Camille, “that we visit Dr. M who I’ll bet will happily wave his, I’ll admit, rather steep, consultation fee…my being such a loyal patron and all.”
“Steep isn’t the word,” said Joanne, “you could go to Paris for a month on what he charges.”
“You know what I always say,” said Camille.
“Book your flight early?”
“When it comes to your face..”
“Money is no object,” Joanne and I said in perfect unison.
“Alright Camille, I’ll go,” I said, “but just remember, me and my Boat and Totes are only consulting.”
to be continued…