I was
looking at a breathtakingly beautiful thirty-three year old aesthetician.
I was completely distracted by her enormous eyes, (I’m half Iranian,” she said)
her beautiful pouty pink lips and her long thick hair. I liked looking at her
but did not like hearing what she was saying.
“Because
you have had oily skin,” she said,
“You will not wrinkle much—you will sag. Yes, here, I can see.” She
touched my jawline.
“Oh,
you mean my Newt Gingrich-like pouches,” I said laughing and pulling on my
skin.
“Yes.
And you must not do that. Do not pull on your skin.”
What? Why wasn’t she contradicting me and telling me that I don’t look like
Newt Gingrich?
She
turned to Pam. “And you—you do not have large pores. I see pores all day long
and yours are not large. Get rid of your magnifying mirror. When you called
about your pores, I thought you would have skin like an orange peel!
Pam
looks disappointed. “What about my wrinkles?”
“You
have no wrinkles.”
“What
about my rosacea?”
“Do
you have papules and pustules?”
“No.”
“Well,
if you don’t have papules and pustules you don’t have rosacea. What you have
are broken capillaries. Do you jog? Joggers are the worst. They get hot, their
capillaries open and that bouncing around—their capillaries break.”
There
was silence for just a moment so I cleared my throat.
“Can
I ask you a question that’s a little personal?” I said.
“Of
course.”
“Have
you had Botox?”
“Yes.
In my forehead. Because one day I made a face and someone told me I looked just
like my mother.”
“So
you got Botox because of that.”
“Yes.
And now I can’t make that face.”
It
made me wonder: is there something they can give you so you won’t act like your mother?
