You've probably heard by now about the mother who injects her eight year old beauty-pageant-loving daughter with botox. Are you in the outraged camp or the smaller, but still vocal, so what camp? I'm in the "what the hell is she thinking" camp myself. The mom was on the morning shows pointing out all those disgusting wrinkles on the little girl's face. Frankly, she must use a Hubble telescope lens because I certainly couldn't see any creases.
I am nearing sixty-five and consider myself somewhat of an expert on wrinkles by virtue of having more than my share -- what comes after gazillion? Crow's feet? Check. Looks like an entire flock of birds have found a home. Laugh lines? Check. But I no longer see any humor in them.
And now that you got me started -- what's with all the age spots? When I was younger I had lots of freckles. Now they've morphed into these masses of brown splotches so I look like a dalmatian, albeit an oddly colored one. Some day I'm going to connect all the dots, mix in a few wrinkles, and see what comes up. That could be the beginning of an entire new geezer art form. At least this kind of body art would put the wrinkles to good use.
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