Botox Confessions

If you have read my blog before, you know (much to my Mother’s chagrin) that I tell all. Not about other people- I will carry your secret to the grave- but I feel better when I am an open book.  So, it’s surprising to me that I feel embarrassed to tell you that I shot my face full of Botox and Juvederm.  At least I think this is what embarrassed feels like, as I, (much to my Mother’s chagrin) am rarely embarrassed.  Plus my face doesn’t move.  So I might be embarrassed, or I might just be astonished – hard to say.  For fear of being judged, I have only told a few people, but rather than the reaction I thought I’d get – “Wow, you are really vain and stupid.” – this is the reaction I’ve received: “Where did you get it done and how much did it cost?”
The truth is, I am really happy I did it.  No one can tell but me because no one has spent the countless hours studying my face as I have.  People think I have new makeup, lost weight, or that I look well rested.  Don says he likes that I look like I am not frowning at him all the time.  I assured him I was still frowning on the inside.  I even plan on doing it again except next time I think a little less Botox.  I was at an AA meeting and a speaker was sharing a particularly difficult story.  I turned to my friend next to me and said, “I am actually really sad.  I just can’t move my face.”  She replied, “Where did you get it done and how much did it cost?”
I guess I’m embarrassed, because I thought I was above such petty vanity but my therapist pointed out that although I am not petty I am most certainly vain. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me. I really want to be the organic hippy that let’s her hair gray and wants her forehead to move but I am not. I want to live in a world where the Waldorf School is next to a really good mall. I want to wear Birkenstocks but carry a Birkin bag.  I want to eat my organic rice and beans off of antique French china and I guess I want to age just a bit slower.  Sue me.
That feels so good to admit!  (Sorry Mom.)  I am going to quit judging myself now –  at least about this particular thing.  I do understand if people judge my choice, but that probably means they have healthier self-esteem than I, or that they’re under forty-five.  Either way, it’s o.k.  If you want to call and tell me you think it’s a bad idea, I am fine with that.  But if you’d rather, you can also call and I will be more than happy to answer the question,  “Where did you get it done and how much does it cost?”

Teenager Refuses To Lie And Spare My Feelings!

I am not proud of the story I am about to tell you, but I do so because I feel it is important for you to know that I am not as perfect as you think.  It might make you feel less inferior to realize I too occasionally have a bad day.
It was our last morning in Hawaii and the entire family was having breakfast together. Don had taken a few pictures and (here is the problem with instant access) I was not happy with how I looked.  I thought, “hmm I look older”, but instantly put it aside so as not to ruin the mood.  On the way back to the room to pick up our luggage and leave the following conversation occurred:
Me:  Don, I feel like I have really aged this year.  I don’t think I look forty anymore. (I am 52).
Don: You don’t look older.  You still look forty. (Good husband.)
Me:  No I don’t.  Sofie how old do I look?
Sofie: Forty-seven.
Don:  Sofie!
Me: Forty-seven?  Are you kidding me?  I don’t look that old.
Sofie:  Mom you are being ridiculous. That is still five years younger.
Don: Sofie!!
Me:  Big deal five years!  I want to look forty.
Sofie:  Well, that’s ambitious.
Don: Sofie!!!!
I then proceeded to actually cry all the way to the air port . I knew I had been kidding myself and that time had cruelly caught up to me.  I am no longer attractive and I will have to develop some sort of “skill” or “talent” to get through the rest of my life.  After we checked in for our flight and Don told me I was being overly dramatic and ruining our vacation (jeez) I began crying again and said, “But I don’t want to have surgery!  Maybe it is time to try botox or fillers.”  Don rolled his eyes at me and said I didn’t need them. Good husband.
My Grandma, Emy Brooks, at age 75
Why is it so fricking hard to age?  I hate that I live in a town where at fifty-two I look older than the other fifty-two-year-olds who are injecting their faces with silicone and numbing their foreheads.  Trust me, I have no judgements and I reserve the right to do it myself, but I wish it wasn’t a big deal to get older.  I had this idea that I would age gracefully and naturally like my Grandmother did.  But so far I am not going gently into that good night.  Besides, I don’t know how she really felt.   Maybe she struggled sometimes too, but she never complained and she made aging look beautiful. She told me once that her favorite age to be was whatever age she was at the time.  O.K.  Now I really feel like a loser.
My problem is I am the laziest vain person I know.  I think about how I look all the time but I hate taking the time to put on make up or blow dry my hair and I really like my sweat pants.   I am not happy that my skin is  beginning to fall off my face but I am not interested in doing anything to stop it. In a head to head contest lazy still beats vain.  Maybe some of my Grandma rubbed off on me after all.  I can only continue to hope.