“Please don’t lean into the needle. Applying the pressure is my job.” (Said by my doctor with a friendly wink to show she wasn’t annoyed but merely amused as she administered my blessed Botox.) I’ll admit it. I want it deep. I want every damn last drop. I’m at that age, I suppose. 42 and a half. No longer sparing in my application of serums, I find myself lighting up and reaching for my credit card at the promise of words like “lifting” and “youthful” and “resurfacing.” Ka-ching $ ka-ching $ ka-ching!
Like many women I know who are enjoying life in their 40s, I’d consider myself an intrepid explorer of the NEXT LEVEL of maintenance. I’ve had Botox regularly for a couple of years to treat my genetically inherited RBF (resting bitch face) and tactfully declined the injectable fillers suggested by more than one dramatic looking aesthetician. But today I found myself on the precipice of whole new world. Today, I experienced my first consultation with an actual plastic surgeon. For actual plastic surgery. Granted, it was administered impromptu while I was awaiting my routine Botox injections, but STILL. Wow. I found myself eager for the hard truth he had to offer about how to help my eyes appear more “refreshed.”
The entire experience thrilled me. After having my eyeballs gently poked, I was told to open and close them at least a dozen times while the smooth-skinned doctor in his early 50s sporting a pristine white jacket studied me at close (very close) range. He informed me in a reverent tone that I have “strong lower eyelid muscles.” (Why, thank you.) And in a soothing tone that I have “bulging fat pockets under my eyes.” (No shit.) Not to worry! There’s a “procedure” for that!
I left the office with my Botox refreshed (swear to God I can actually hear my orbital muscles exhaling a happy ahhhh!) and the plastic surgeon’s business card tucked deep inside my summer clutch. As we are still getting to know one another, I should mention that I’m honestly very gung-ho about this sort of thing. In fact, I’d say I’m a downright egger-onner when it comes to plastic surgery…for other people. I’m just personally terrified. Scared to look really different but mostly unsure I possess the strength of character required for recovery. Bottom line, I’m horrible at being patient which makes me a horrible patient.
That being said, one of my closest girlfriends just shared with me that getting her eyes done was the BEST gift she has ever given herself. So, never say never. Until then, you NEED to know about this amazing product another girlfriend turned me onto last week. It’s a game changer. Enjoy!
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