chicken and plant some pink impatiens by the
front walk before stuffing envelopes for the PTA.” She gives me a quick hug and
is off. “This was fun! See you Saturday!” she calls.
I wave in her general direction, but am distracted by my
own slightly deranged thoughts, which are now moving quickly.
Boston. Georgie. Road trip! I leave a voice-mail message
to see if Georgie is free for coffee, then check the Amtrak schedule.
Wednesday is shaping up to be quite an adventure.
Chapter 8
As I’m getting into my car, the phone rings. “Hello?” I
ask, not recognizing the name or number on the screen.
“Mrs. Worthing? This is Lila over at Dr. Grossman’s
office. I know I told you it would be impossible to fit you in today, but I’ve
just had a cancellation. Can you be here in ten minutes, at three o’clock?”
My throat falls into my stomach. “Absolutely.”
On the drive over, I keep checking my forehead in the
rearview mirror. This makes driving a bit complicated. People honk as the
traffic lights change, but my car and I don’t move. Self-obsession is a
dangerous business. I don’t know how Jodi does it.
And then, I wonder, is self-obsession what I’m really
after? Isn’t it enough to just take a day trip to Boston? Now I have to go and
get my face pumped full of poison, too? I mean, yes, I want to look younger.
But what is the cost and what the gain?
First thought: Doug will be mad. More than mad. He once
said he would lose respect for me if I ever did any cosmetic alterations.
I wonder if he’d remember saying that. It was kind of a
while ago now.
Anyway, isn’t it my face?
My face, yes. But he has to look at it every morning for
the rest of his life.
Except, not tomorrow morning, because I’ll be slipping out
early to travel to Boston. Ha!
Come back down to earth, Lauren, and deal with the
decision at hand.
Okay, so Doug likes you the way you are.
Which is, you know, sweet.
But I could look better . Wouldn’t he like that even more ?
We haven’t seen much of each other lately. I wonder if he
remembers what I really look like up close. Maybe this “tweak” of mine could
fly beneath his radar?
I could just not tell him , I think, channeling my
inner Jodi.
I didn’t tell him about the pocketbook, and that went
pretty smoothly, I rationalize.
Now that my hair is colored and cut in a new style, I
could just insist that this is what’s making me look younger. Jodi almost
didn’t recognize me because of my hair, after all. People don’t have to know
that I look better because I froze some really small muscles on my face.
But then I wonder, if he doesn’t notice any change, does
that mean the procedure was successful? Or, isn’t the whole point of getting
Botox done to have people gushing about how fabulous you look?
See, I’m already self-obsessed, and I haven’t even had botulism
injected under my skin yet.
I enter the elevator in Dr. Grossman’s office building and
hit “3.” The back wall is covered with mirrored panels, so I turn and stare at
myself some more.
I never really thought about my forehead much. If I do go
through with this today, I know I’ll examine my face all the time. I’ll have to
watch my forehead change, and then worry about it, and then run back to the
doctor’s office to maintain the perfection of it. Maintenance is expensive, and
it’s perpetual.
As it is, I have hair color to maintain, and we all know
how well I’ve done at that. And let’s not even talk about my bikini area.
I’ve heard that if you don’t keep up with the Botox
schedule, your face morphs dramatically overnight. Like, for a few months
you’re all smooth and glowy like a freshly picked apple and then, boom! You
wake up on the morning after the expiration date looking like an apple-head doll.
Wear a cloak and people will start asking you to perform voodoo.
Plus, there’s cost to think about. I keep some of my
teaching salary for fun splurges. Would I rather have new clothes
front walk before stuffing envelopes for the PTA.” She gives me a quick hug and
is off. “This was fun! See you Saturday!” she calls.
I wave in her general direction, but am distracted by my
own slightly deranged thoughts, which are now moving quickly.
Boston. Georgie. Road trip! I leave a voice-mail message
to see if Georgie is free for coffee, then check the Amtrak schedule.
Wednesday is shaping up to be quite an adventure.
Chapter 8
As I’m getting into my car, the phone rings. “Hello?” I
ask, not recognizing the name or number on the screen.
“Mrs. Worthing? This is Lila over at Dr. Grossman’s
office. I know I told you it would be impossible to fit you in today, but I’ve
just had a cancellation. Can you be here in ten minutes, at three o’clock?”
My throat falls into my stomach. “Absolutely.”
On the drive over, I keep checking my forehead in the
rearview mirror. This makes driving a bit complicated. People honk as the
traffic lights change, but my car and I don’t move. Self-obsession is a
dangerous business. I don’t know how Jodi does it.
And then, I wonder, is self-obsession what I’m really
after? Isn’t it enough to just take a day trip to Boston? Now I have to go and
get my face pumped full of poison, too? I mean, yes, I want to look younger.
But what is the cost and what the gain?
First thought: Doug will be mad. More than mad. He once
said he would lose respect for me if I ever did any cosmetic alterations.
I wonder if he’d remember saying that. It was kind of a
while ago now.
Anyway, isn’t it my face?
My face, yes. But he has to look at it every morning for
the rest of his life.
Except, not tomorrow morning, because I’ll be slipping out
early to travel to Boston. Ha!
Come back down to earth, Lauren, and deal with the
decision at hand.
Okay, so Doug likes you the way you are.
Which is, you know, sweet.
But I could look better . Wouldn’t he like that even more ?
We haven’t seen much of each other lately. I wonder if he
remembers what I really look like up close. Maybe this “tweak” of mine could
fly beneath his radar?
I could just not tell him , I think, channeling my
inner Jodi.
I didn’t tell him about the pocketbook, and that went
pretty smoothly, I rationalize.
Now that my hair is colored and cut in a new style, I
could just insist that this is what’s making me look younger. Jodi almost
didn’t recognize me because of my hair, after all. People don’t have to know
that I look better because I froze some really small muscles on my face.
But then I wonder, if he doesn’t notice any change, does
that mean the procedure was successful? Or, isn’t the whole point of getting
Botox done to have people gushing about how fabulous you look?
See, I’m already self-obsessed, and I haven’t even had botulism
injected under my skin yet.
I enter the elevator in Dr. Grossman’s office building and
hit “3.” The back wall is covered with mirrored panels, so I turn and stare at
myself some more.
I never really thought about my forehead much. If I do go
through with this today, I know I’ll examine my face all the time. I’ll have to
watch my forehead change, and then worry about it, and then run back to the
doctor’s office to maintain the perfection of it. Maintenance is expensive, and
it’s perpetual.
As it is, I have hair color to maintain, and we all know
how well I’ve done at that. And let’s not even talk about my bikini area.
I’ve heard that if you don’t keep up with the Botox
schedule, your face morphs dramatically overnight. Like, for a few months
you’re all smooth and glowy like a freshly picked apple and then, boom! You
wake up on the morning after the expiration date looking like an apple-head doll.
Wear a cloak and people will start asking you to perform voodoo.
Plus, there’s cost to think about. I keep some of my
teaching salary for fun splurges. Would I rather have new clothes
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