It's B Day!

My week so far has been a complete mess but at least the PMS beast has been placated for a couple of weeks. My poor, poor husband.

Anyway, this week so far has been like a kick in the head and I would not be coping well if it weren't for the gym. It's amazing how well I sleep at night when I get regular exercise and as a bonus, my bathroom scale has been kind, relatively speaking.

Today is going to be a freaking fabulous day.

Pourquoi?

Because today, I'm going to fill my forehead full of Botox until it is as smooth as a baby's arse.

I cannot wait.

Depending on the cost, I might even inject a few bits into the crow's feet surrounding my eyes.

I'm positively giddy with anticipation.

I have never been to a dermatologist before so this is all new to me. I have no idea what to expect. Am I scared? Not a chance. I have given birth. I have my lip waxed every six weeks. Could it be worse than those two things? I think not.

When booking the appointment, the receptionist asked me the reason for the visit. I said, "mole check". I have no idea why I said that. Instead, I should have told her that I could grow vegetables in the furrows that line my forehead. It's kind of like walking into the drug store when I was in university, grabbing bandaids and nail polish remover and then quietly asking for the condoms behind the counter in an offhand way like, "Oh yeah, better get some of those...FOR MY ROOMATE". I don't know why I was self conscious with the receptionist regarding my desire for Botox. I mean, for weeks, I've been asking everyone I know about it. I haven't been the slightest bit shy about vocalizing my desire to try it and since making the appointment, I've been marking the days off like a child uses an Advent calendar at Christmastime. There has been an extra special skip in my step these last couple of days.

"Why are you smiling," people ask.

"Because I still can," I answer.

I certainly do want a mole check because I'm forty two and there were several years of my youth where baby oil was slathered on in an attempt to create significant tan lines but my real goal, MY LIFE'S PURPOSE, is to walk out of that doctor's office having been stripped of my ability to look surprised.

If my dermy is okay with it, I'll have Dallas take pictures. Because I know you girls (and guys) out there who haven't tried it are as curious as I am. Right?

Don't lie now. It makes you look old.