Botox Round Two

Yesterday, I made a call to my dermatologist's office to see if I could get an appointment with the Botox fairy for next week. My plan was to put my greens-eating, tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing mother in the car with me and drag her to my appointment so that she could see for herself what a joyful, peaceful place the cosmetic spa could be.

And then, I was going to sit her ass in the chair and get her shot up like a junkie.

Unfortunately, I didn't conceive of my plan until late yesterday morning and because my Botox fairy has a life, she is understandably going to take some time off next week to enjoy the holidays with her family. She was fully booked.

But could I be there at 11:30? She'd had a cancellation.

Umm...HELL YES.

I giggled on the drive there thinking about the stereotype I had become. Botox at lunch. How cosmopolitan of me.

At the party last weekend, I was chatting with a seasoned Botoxer and she told me that at the first signs of muscle movement in my face, I had better hustle back in for a touch up. She explained that the first time you get it, it doesn't last much beyond three months but with each succeeding visit, the effects stay with you longer and longer. According to her, for maximum effect, you should get yourself injected before the effects of the last batch entirely wear off.

So in I went, no longer a Botox virgin and like all of my recent forays into the world of anti-aging products, I experienced a slight hiccup.

The shots hurt. And they bled a little. And I have about six, CLEARLY VISIBLE dots on my forehead. I look like a pin cushion.

"Is this the same gauge needle?" I asked.

Everything was identical to the last time, including oddly, the clothing I had on. What then? What could possibly account for the vast difference in experiences?

Pending menstruation.

Apparently, just before a woman gets ready to welcome her monthly ordeal, she should avoid having needles STUCK IN HER FACE.

The Botox fairy, compounding the unpleasantness actually said to me, "Do you still get periods?" WTF? Of course I do. Because I'm forty-two and I look thirty five you slapper!

I smiled and answered politely in the affirmative, but inside, I was screaming obscenities at her, wondering if that question was designed as some sort of subliminal, psychological jab to get me to consider expanding my cosmetic repertoire to include fillers and laser resurfacing.

I swear to you right now that I am going to write a book about this shit because somebody has to light the way for others. I have a few catchy slogans already:

"Retin-A? Waxing, Nay" or how about, "Cross? Avoid Botox."

On the way out the door, holding a tissue to my bleeding head, I grabbed brochures on Juvederm, Sculptra and Radiesse.

For research, of course.

Thank goodness for bangs.