I had to go to the dermatologist last week. No big deal.
Now, let me say that this particular dermatologist is also known for her skills in the cosmetic surgery arena - you know, botox, laser peels and restalyne - and I've always figured that when I get ready to start nipping and tucking, she'll be my first stop.
And I feel pretty good about this but still feel that I'm not quite there yet. On the other hand, I also think that if you wait until you're 'there' you might be a little too late.
Still - I've always thought to myself 'Well, maybe next year.'
Lately, though, I've been looking at the lines around my eyes and beginning to think that I may be tipping over into an area where I need to start doing more than thinking about it. Maybe this is next year. Maybe I need to schedule a consultation at least.
So when I went bopping on over there to see about my little rash, I thought maybe it would be a good opportunity to dip my toe into the water.
Well, darlings, I dipped my toe into an ocean of trepidation and ran out of there like a scalded chicken.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad. But as I sat looking around the room at the other (mostly) ladies you could just tell the ones who were there for rashes and the ones who were there to have 20 years of sun damage blasted off of their faces. And there was a lot of sun damage in that room.
I felt so strange. So vain. So petty. I'm a serious person, with a serious job. I'm not one of these women who've spent my days playing tennis and laying by the pool and spending my husband's money (not that there's anything wrong with that... OK, I'm a judgmental bitch... I do have a problem with it).
But I bought my own damn Louis Vuittons!
Maybe Monday afternoons are not the time when the single, professional girls hit up the botox clinic.
Maybe they're there for early or late appointments. Maybe I just need to hit it at a better time to get the unintentional support I crave. Although what I really crave is dark glasses and the secret entrance.
It's not that I look down on these women - hell, I AM one of them. This particular doctor is known for her subtle approach and none of these women looked 'overdone'. But they just looked like they were trying so hard.
Too much makeup. Too much perfume. Too much hairspray.
And then I look at myself and wonder if I need more makeup and more hairspray.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I am struggling with getting older. I knew - GOD how I knew - how to be 37. I thought I'd be 37 forever. I LOVED 37. I would stay 37.
But I'm almost 45. That's 5 years less than 50. And I now know that I cannot be 37 forever. I also KNOW I don't know how to be 50 (let alone what comes after that).
I want to look like a good me but not a weirdo. The problem is that the 'me' that I like is 37 and I have to let that go.
I see famous women who won't do this. I mean, I saw Courtney Cox on Anderson Cooper. Her forehead was frozen and she did not have full control of her lower jaw. She looked so plastic. And I don't want to be like her. I want to age gracefully while continuously looking 10 - 15 years younger than I really am!
Is that so wrong?
So there it is. I'm 44 and looking down the barrel of laser peels and restalyne injections and scared shitless.
The only thing worse than looking old and tired and saggy and gray is looking weird and frozen and pathetic.
I know this is a ridiculous problem. There are people out there with real problems and I am not currently one of them. But I know I can't be the only person out there feeling like this.
And you know, we haven't had a single girl freakout in a long, long time.....