If I pay double can I get 20?

There is an adage for women as they age – you can save your ass, or your face.  Essentially you are going to have to throw a lot of time and money in to preserving one but the other will suffer.  For me it was a no brainer – the ass has been faithful but the face was never much to begin with.  I made peace decades ago with the fact that I was never  typically beautiful,  nor did I want to be.  I know many women who were The Pretty Girl at a young age who are devastated by the evil that time has wrought.  It is enormously freeing not to bank on your looks and I came to the conclusion that eventually it would be to my advantage just to back in to a room.  I have a face with “character” and as there has been a self imposed photo ban since my 13th birthday I am always somewhat unnerved when I see myself captured on film.  I am generally startled by the size of my nose, and the fact that the whole show is framed by a crown of hair that would look appropriate on the Rum Tum Tugger in the Pougkeepsie Playhouse’s amateur production of “Cats”.

That said when one receives a flyer from the local spa advertising a “10 Years Younger Facial”, one snaps to.  A title like that is not an offer – it’s a dare.  A dare that I was willing to take so I called them immediately and demanded an appointment.  The facial was a five step affair – cleansing, microdermabrasion, Red & Green LED therapy and a session with micro current  technology.  I am fairly confident I know what “cleansing” is but I suspect NASA should be consulted to disseminate the meaning of the others.

I am never faint of heart in these affairs.  (“Set my face on fire and start again?  Sure!” Inject enough neurotoxins to paralyze a village into my forehead?  Sign me up!”)  I can report that this, unlike the gentle rubbing and nurturing of facials past, hurt like a crazy #$^&$#^I(&$!!!.  My eyes were covered with padding the whole time (I think the Geneva convention would refer to this as being blindfolded, but I digress) so I could not see what was happening but for what seemed like an eternity my face as being passed over by a pair of wands equipped with a comb end that emitted electric, needle like zaps.  Hot needle zaps.  On my face.  For an hour. I wondered if I in fact had been abducted the Maori and was going to wind up with a fabulous face tattoo.

It seems unfair that women should suffer the most from the expectation of preservation, but it is not exclusively our burden to bear.  I was at dinner with a female peer of mine (Kim the Guest Blogger) recently and we were joined my a male friend some ten years our junior.  He commented on how men emerged from the whole aging process virtually unscathed, until Kim commented “Yeah, except for the Ball Drop”.  Our friend had not heard of this phenomenon so we gleefully informed him that his testicles would eventually wither and drop and he could look forward an uneasy sense of familiarity the next time he had the opportunity to visit the baboon exhibit at the zoo and cast an eye over the oldest patriarch.  He was aghast, and has since informed me he has been scrutinizing his scrotum with a ferocity not seen since puberty.

You may be asking “did the 10 Years Younger facial work”?  Hard to say.  My face feels tighter, although it is possible that the rictus of shock has not worn off.  The sad thing of course is that if I conclude it DID work, I will very likely do it again.  Or I will practice walking backwards everywhere which is more cost effective, less painful and does not require a tip.

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