Now that I am fast approaching 30, the tell-tale signs of aging are catching up with me. In recent months I have become a tiny bit obsessed with the idea of Botox. Don’t judge me. It’s not for everyone and I am still just considering it.
Recently I have started playing a little game with my fellow BART passengers. Botox? or No Botox? I look intently at their foreheads and then determine if they have been jabbed with the toxic substance. Then I look at their hands because a person’s hands are always a dead giveaway to their true age. If the hands and the forehead don’t match I know something is up (or altered).
I was intensely gazing at a passenger last week and tried to decipher exactly what she had done to herself. Her forehead was perfectly smooth and she possessed a giant pair of fish lips. Despite her expensive attempt at youthfulness, her gray roots peaked out of her finely sculpted coif betraying her actual age. She looked bizarre.
Women like this do not deter me from my desire to maintain a youthful, carefree countenance. They just make me want to go to a doctor who actually knows what they are doing.
If in 6 months from now I am super angry with you but unable to scowl.. you will know why.