Here is where I confess that I am mildly amused when I see younger women whose faces are paralyzed. I swear I’m not judging. I regularly have Hollie color and hide the suddenly large patch of gray on the top of my head because I’m absolutely not ready for that bullshit. Honestly I’m still believing that redheads don’t turn gray as they age but rather fade to a rosy gold, then to a glorious white. So yeah, Hollie colors my hair making me ginger-er and I certainly have no place to judge women younger than me whose faces don’t move.
But every once in a while I see a lovely woman, my age, older, younger, whatever whose beautiful face is frozen and filled in such a way that I have to stop myself from crying out…
Perhaps that’s I why I believe (for now) that Botox is not for me. Plus the fact those vertical lines above my nose, permanently etched because of literally decades of squinting because I haz special eyes would need to be filled rather than Botoxed. Oh, and needles and my face? Um, no. My luck my sensitive skin would react in such a way that I could not literally show my face for days; or worse, I would look like I suffered a stroke.
Because it is me, that would totally happen.
Still, vanity sometimes gets the best of me like when I think about the fact that as my lovely sister gets married next Saturday, I will be 20-25 years older than the rest of the wedding party.
Of course no one cares, or at least they shouldn’t because it quite literally is all about the beautiful bride, my sister, and her handsome, adoring groom.
OMG! I can’t wait!!!
Perhaps I should thank the lady I saw in Starbucks today whose lovely face was frozen and filled in such a way that it was truly frightening. She saved my face…today.
For me, bangs are my Botox.