The Botox Diaries by Janice Kaplan, Lynn Schnurnberger

Information.” So I clear my throat and say chirpily, “I didn’t know I was looking for a husband. But who’d you have in mind?”
    She reaches for the stack of magazines and fumbles around until she finds the mother lode—a copy of the real
Cosmopolitan
, that hasn’t been “Girl-ed.”
    “Right here, Mom,” she says, waving the magazine at me. “ ‘The Twenty-Five Most Eligible Bachelors.’ I picked one for you. His name is Boulder, like the rock.”
    “He certainly sounds solid.” I laugh. But Jen is distracted, because she’s busy flipping through the pages of the magazine.
    “All the models in here have big boobs,” she says. Jen looks down at her own flat T-shirt and rubs her hand against the fabric, as if willing her breasts to grow.
    I could lecture about calling them breasts, not boobs, and promise her that she’ll get some soon enough. But she won’t believe me right now.
    “So tell me about Boulder,” I say instead. Rocks and boobs. What a magazine.
    “He’s thirty-three.” She looks at me and frowns slightly. “He’s the oldest one, so I hope he’s not too old. But he’s got big muscles and he’s a professional surfer. Isn’t that cool? I don’t think we should move to California for him, but Lily says we have the Atlantic Ocean right here so it shouldn’t matter. I’m writing him a letter.”
    “I’ll help with the spelling,” I say gamely. I’d hate for there to beany grammar mistakes when pledging my love to the oldest-known bachelor in America, who still happens to be way too young for me.
    “Good, because I’m going to tell him all about us.”
    Us. Of course. Jen’s not just trying to nab a husband for me. It’s a package deal. She’s looking for a dad.
    I reach over and take a look at the picture of this Boulder guy—bare-chested, holding a surfboard and offering up such a dazzling grin that I check to make sure I haven’t accidentally flipped to the ad for BriteSmile. Doesn’t strike me that I’m looking at my destiny, but I can imagine what Jen sees in him—the perfect guy to carry her on his shoulders for a wave-jumping romp into the ocean.
    Jen’s looking at me expectantly.
    “He looks like he’d make a pretty fun dad,” I say tentatively, because the old guilt is seeping back. Most of the time just being the two of us seems perfectly fine. But as much as I love her to pieces, I’m still only one parent. Okay, on my good days, maybe one and a half. Still, I can’t help worrying about how much she misses having the standard-issue matched set.
    Jen, however, is hankering to make the date and ignores my cue to bare her innermost thoughts on Life with (Single) Mom.
    “So I’m writing him a letter to enter the contest,” she says, explaining the rules for winning yourself a Boulder. “He’s going to read them all—”
    Or maybe someone will have to read them to him, I think.
    “—and then he’ll pick the girl he wants to marry.
Cosmo
will send you on a date first. And oh, Mom? Just so you know. The date might be on TV, too. Is that okay?”
    “Sure, hon, if we win, I’m there,” I say. At least it’s not
The Bachelor—
I don’t have to get into a hot tub with the guy. And anyway, what are the odds of any of this happening? Jen scrunches her freckled nose and appraises my chances.
    “So, Mom, you know how you’ve been talking about having your hair streaked? Maybe you should do it now.”
    “What? Don’t think I can land a husband like this?” I say, joking. I give a pretend sigh. “All right, I’ll do it. I don’t want to let you down.”
    But for Jen this is serious business. And now she thinks she’s hurt my feelings.
    She comes rushing over, throws her arms around me, and gives me a big, mushy kiss. “I love you, Mom. You’re perfect just the way you are. You could get any husband you wanted.”
    “Oh, you’re a sweetie. I love you, too.” I give her a big hug and trace a heart on her back with my finger. Jen