About face

I've scheduled an appointment for a facial this evening. I'll just come out and say it: My face is in bad shape and it's high time I started doing something about it. You boys don't understand this because somehow you (bastards!) all age gently, handsomely, charmingly, while we women stare despairingly into the mirror as the wrinkles and sags and loss of elasticity! grow more pronounced each year. Sure, a small percentage of women don't seem to have this problem (at least, not yet- cue maniacal laughter). But I don't want to talk about those women. In fact, let's just consider those women dead to me, shall we? And let's hope they don't run into me on the street. Really. Because I look bad enough, without having to stand next to them.

A month ago, I paid a lot of money (well, a handful of money plus a rather substantial Saks gift card) for some miracle serum for my face. The only miracle it's produced so far is to prove that yes, actually, it is possible for me to spend more time getting ready for bed than I already do. Or the miracle of my feet carrying me into Saks Fifth Avenue in the first place. Either way, not the miracle I was hoping for.

For the last two years or so, I've come close to being violently ill when I see myself in photos. I doubt this is due entirely to the picture-taker (usually my mother or father-in-law) shouting "smile!" and then fumbling around for a few additional agonizing seconds before snapping the shot, enough time for smiles to waver and gazes to dart distractedly off-center.

No, I blame the stress of the last few years, a consistent lack of sleep, my old nemesis (then part-time lover) Smoking, and of course Jolly Old Age, all showing up unannounced and having a party on my face. It hit me yesterday that some women of a certain age (i.e., over 25) do more than the minimum at-home skincare. These women eat well! Drink a lot of water! And pay someone else to care for their skin on a regular basis! And since I generally do two out of the three already (and no, I don't feel the need to mention the large amounts of candy consumed by moi, as of late), sign me up! It might actually be time to let the experts take over.

I will spend a lovely hour after work today getting my face scrubbed, prodded, de-toxed, [uh, whatever the nicer word for ~shudder~ "clogged pore extraction" might be], and moisturized. I'm sure the experience will come with a scathing critique of my skin and its years of neglect (along with the hefty bill) but if I leave the place looking younger and more alive than I have looked in the past two years, I'll be happy. It may be the beginning of something really beautiful- having an esthetician on speed dial.

If not, I'll have to move some money from the Boob Job Eventually account and open a Botox Now! account.

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