Boobs, wrinkles and botox
Sunday was 70 degrees. I hate the warm weather. I especially hate when the weather is warm in winter. This only reminds me how much I hate warm weather the rest of the year. Why? Because in the Big Dirty Apple, that is the time that every one under 30 strolls up and down the 3rd Avenue bar scene with their peach skin faces, cellulite free giraffe legs and short little skirts seeking hot, tight bodied young males.
Which is what I used to do (stroll). But those tales are for another day. I am on the dark side of,well, let’s just say, 38. That sounds freaking old. So old in fact, it’s hard for me to even…type… the…. word. So, I won’t. But since everyone thinks I’m a lot younger, I guess I can ascribe to the thought that 50 is the new 40. And then, if 50 is the new 40, and 40 is the new 30, am I really closer to 20? Think about it. Anyway, everyone I work with, is under 40. Even the CEO of the company I work for is under 40. In fact, most people are under 30. In my company. Ok, I guess I can live with that. BUT what I can’t live with is that chicken waddle that is starting to appear under my chin in every picture I take. I can’t
even wear turtle necks anymore. I’ve told myself it’s just the ten pounds I want to lose. (VERY lousy because I work for a company that specializes in weight loss. They don’t tell you when you join the company that there is tons of fattening food in the kitchen, and that the pressure of the job causes you to stress eat that very junk food, so you gain 10 pounds. And then, owner sends an email around telling everyone that she is going on a diet to lose the weight she’s gained from unhealthy eating and if everyone in the company who needs to lose weight does within 3 months, the company will pay for your gym membership. And then, after you lose the weight that you originally gained from the stress of working there, you can become a success story.) Did you get that?
Ok, the waddle. My mother says that I need to do the following exercise.
The Waddle from Lara Dean on Vimeo.
She’s been doing it for years. And to be honest, she looks great. But also to be honest, I don’t believe from the ages of 13-18, she took her mother’s tin foil, schmeared babyoil on her nubile teen skin, and roasted in the 90 degree heat for 2 hours all summer long, so that from the side, she looked African American to anyone who drove past her in their ’67 Firebirds. And did you know that the most damage done to skin happens BEFORE you’re 18? Well I didn’t either which is why Dr. Goldberg, the Dermatologist, is my new best friend, making sure all those sun spots, are just that.Not to digress. So, one fine night, at dinner with an old, good friend, (who happens to NOT be as old as I am—plus she is a beautiful, very thin, somewhat surgeried*, model that books TV commercials, etc) I made the mistake of commenting on the waddle. “Oh, that’s just age Lara. Do you know Jeanette Greenbean? Well, she went to this great plastic surgeon and I don’t know what he did, but he fixed her right up and she looks fantastic. AGE!!??? Not to use an overused phrase (so I’ve changed it a bit) but with augmented, assholes like that, who the hell needs enemies? But since I did have the benefit of that geriatric knowledge (speak up, who cares what you say, you’re too old anyway) and a 3 glasses of champagne bravened** tongue, I decided to say: “you know what Debbie? You really hurt my feelings when you told me my waddle was from age. I would have rather you told me I needed to lose 10 pounds”“I am SO sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! But at least I gave you a solution. “ And in my wizened age, I saw her point of view. “True, I said. But more importantly, didn’t you tell me you used Botox? What doctor did you use?”“Shhhhhhhh”, she said looking around wildly at her boyfriend. “I’ll call you tomorrow”***From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
*Surgeried: – One who has had multiple surgeries to improve their physical appearance even if they don’t need it.
**Bravened: – more brave than usual so as to speak up when someone hurts your feelings rather than hide it inside and speak badly about them behind their backs.
***I’ll Call You Tomorrow: – a euphemism meaning “shut up you little bitch, my boyfriend is right behind me and I can’t believe you said that. You’re nuts if you think I’m giving you MY trade secrets.”
