My Dermatologist and I Discuss Options

Hi, doctor.  Yeah, I was wondering if you could take a look at that freckle-thingie by my eye.  The one that’s shaped like Florida – at least if you stare at it long enough.  No? Maybe that’s just me.  But it’s okay, right?  Nothing to worry about?  Whew, what a relief.  Yes, I’ll make sure to wear sunscreen.  And a hat.

Umm . . . I’m 42.  Why do you ask?  Actually, no, I’ve never thought about Botox.  I mean, I know I have a few lines, but – really?  “Moderate to severe”, huh?  Sure, I can understand how that might bother some women.  Oh, I see – most women are bothered.  Deeply.

Gee, come to think of it, I’m bothered, too.  But . . . I’m going to have to pass on the Botox.  See, as I’ve aged, my kids have taken to sticking things in my wrinkles and timing how long they stay put.  Dimes, Pokemon cards, stray bits of cat food or what-have-you.  They call it “Let’s Stick Shit In Mom’s Face.”  One time, I held a squirt gun between my eyebrows for over a minute just by frowning.  The little guys went nuts!  I’d hate to ruin what amounts to good clean family fun.

You’re right, doctor, I do have a “masculine brow”! I’m glad you noticed that, it’s something I’m very proud of.  I’ve worked long and hard to cultivate my eyebrows into a heavy, menacing hair-ledge.  I call it “The Ferrigno”.  It really comes in handy when I need to glower at wait staff or small children.  So I guess I’ll pass on the laser hair removal, too.

You’re saying those lines around my mouth are actually “nasolabial folds”?  Oh, I get it: “marionette lines”.   Hmm . . . the filler does sound tempting.  For a while now, I’ve been thinking it might be fun to have some spongy, gelatinous junk injected into my face.  Kind of like having a pet worm, except trapped under my skin.  It could “migrate”, though?  I actually count that as a plus.  The kids and I could have a whole new game! Sort of like “Where’s Waldo?”, only with Restylane.  We’d call it: “Where the Fuck Is Mom’s Filler?”!  Did it slide down her chin?  Or is it that cheesy lump under her left nostril?

Yet here’s the thing, doctor: I adore puppets, the great and sassy “Madame” in particular.  I can think of no better tribute to her than to look exactly like a ventriloquist’s dummy.  That means no filler for me. And Ix-nay on the lip collagen, too.  Yes, you’re correct, I have the thin lips of a chimp.  However, I also have a reputation as a “thin-lipped bitch”, which I will protect at all costs.

Wait – you’re actually suggesting I get an eye-lift?  But that’s madness.  Madness! I’ll have you know my husband has a Bassett Hound fetish, and it’s fairly hardcore. I may look like Droopy Dog, but it sure as hell gets the job done in the bedroom, if you know what I’m saying. Along with howling and drooling, that is.

So now that my freckle checks out, I really should be going.  No Botoxed, swollen filler-face for me.  I’ll stick with my wizened, hairy puppet-face instead.  But thanks for the talk, doctor.  It’s nice to know I have options.