Who Let The Skunk Out?
“What has she done with her hair?”, the neighbor snickered to her early morning walking buddy. I heard it over the sound of my weed wacker in the front yard.
I would have told them, but I don’t like them. They snicker more than the candy bar. About everybody and everything.
But I will tell you. Yes, I look like a freak right now with this pasty, matt, light dirty yellow hair with some red/orange streaks attacking it from all sides. The color was formerly known as mahogany red.
To get rid of it, I thought an ever-increasing but never-ending skunk line while growing it out was the only way. “Oh, my leetie darling…eet eez love at first sight eez eet not?” Don’t you just love Pepe Le Pew? But the times they are a-changing.
This current mess, although preferable, is part of a 3-part process to return my hair to its natural color: gray. Two more treatments two weeks apart will do it. I will be au naturel. And proud of it.
Ask me my age but not my weight. Is this throwing in the towel (I’m too beat up to continue? The fight is over.)? Or I’m just tired of scheduling my life around my roots showing. Is it contentment earned with the years? Or I just don’t care anymore. Maybe it’s just laziness. Kind of, sort of, maybe.
Botox. Forget it. There’s something wrong with injecting botulinum toxin into your forehead. That’s right; toxin. Produced by bacteria in badly made sausages during the 18th century. And yet, young women are flocking to the docs to pay huge amounts of money to paralyze their face so that they look better decades later.
Or maybe they are having other “injectable” treatments, like derma filler, over their lunch hour. Later, at the happy hour bar, they talk openly about these procedures. With strangers around. Like talking about the weather that day. Quite shocking!
I’ll just use flesh-colored duck tape when I need to look good. I live in the land of pamper palaces and plastic surgery seeing the results of the latter every single day. Too many of them are “freak faces”:
- a permanent grimace that goes too far from one ear to the other
- stretched out eyes so tight, they must be open 24/7 if they don’t pop out
- cheek implants that look like something is living in them
- puffy fish lips that are going to blow up any minute
- a smile that can’t reach its potential
Many of these people have become caricatures of themselves. Or The Joker in Batman.
Change your personality, not your face. Do an about-face.
“Am I done yet?” you might ask. No. Who said I was a nice person?
The Finishing Touch
In ritzy south Florida 15 years ago, I used to see these cosmetically altered women of age but the hands were a dead giveaway to what their actual age might be. Because of this, many wore gloves.
Well, guess what folks, today there is a remedy. Hand rejuvenation surgery. They pump synthetic fillers into those life-revealing hands and then run a laser over them to remove those huge liver spots. It’s called the finishing touch. Ta da!
So now that you look 20 years younger, can you act younger? And get away with it?
What happened to growing old gracefully with wrinkles, jowls and the ears and nose that never quit growing? I call that the Dumbo the Elephant look.
So what if you look tired or even angry. Maybe you are.
And you can act any age you want to. Tell me I’m childish. I will say thank you. Wrinkles and all.