That's The Plan. The Friends and Family Plan.
One of my girls runs the office of a vaunted Park Avenue Plastic Surgeon. A holy grail for some. A necessity, like pedicures and highlights, for others.
The gossip-column-like stories I read on infrequent occasion about such practices' clientele contain a seed of truth, as my girl's anecdotes - all veiled, all disguised - would attest. No marquee names are revealed, but some of the stories are tres amusant. There is always a kernel of truth in any hyperbole.
It's good to have friends - in plastic surgeons' offices.
I don't know where I read it, but I recall something that the former Gucci designer, the drop-dead, sexy, forty-something, iconic Tom Ford said. When queried about his flawless demeanor, his other-worldly complexion, he said that he has had no surgery. But he has had injectables. Well, right on, Tom.
I own no Gucci products, although I would have loved to - the styles of several years back, the super-sleek, those cut-open-to-the-navel styles, yummy. But maybe, just maybe, I have a little something in common with Tom Ford, apart from our four-plus decades. And nights at Studio 54. We called it "Studio." Then.
Courtesy of The Plan, just a little bit of Botox, from the outside corner of one eye, across my forehead to the outside corner of the other eye. More than six months ago. A teeth cleaning at the hands and instruments of a dental hygienist is at least sixteen times more painful. So simple. Boom. Done.
I did bruise a bit, on one side of my forehead. When one of the trainers at The Gym remarked about the slight discoloration - and he was the only one who noticed or said anything - I fibbed and said I hit a low-hanging tree branch on one of my Palisades Peanut Falls hikes. He seemed to believe me.
It's worn off now, and I can wiggle my eyebrows all over the place again. I would love to get a little bit more. It is preternatural, the way it smoothed the "shower-cap" wrinkles that have etched my forehead since my late-twenties. We'll see.
Just a couple of weeks ago, my dear girl scheduled me in for a super-duper facial at the office, a belated birthday gift, and the good doctor popped a little, red, mole-like thing off my neck. Unscheduled, two minutes, and pffft! Gone. So cool.
Other of us have had an assortment of procedures, from laser and lipo to tits and tummy tucks. I must admit, we're pretty low-key about it. Nothing garish or obvious. Our individual choices. Ours alone.
Winning the genetic lottery can only go so far. I'll go with Tom on this one. Tom and me. As if. Right.
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