My Mid-Life Crisis

It was 2 months before my 40^th birthday. I noticed there were these strange creases zig zagging across my forehead. God damnit!! I was wrinkling! You would think they would gradually show up, a slight wrinkle when you are 30 that deepens and widens with age. That’s how I thought it worked. That is not how it works.

Nope. One day you wake up and look in the mirror and there are god damn wrinkles everywhere. Overnight. Just. Like. That.

Okay, no need to panic. This happens, right? I’ll just… I’ll just… BOTOX. Hell yeah! I’ll botox the shit out of these things. And that was how I found myself in a plastic surgeons office, lying on a dentist chair, trying to hold still as he stabbed me with a medieval-sized needle. Problem solved. Or so I thought.

The fact that you can’t touch your forehead for 24 hours, or lie on you back for at least three, should have been warning enough that what I was doing to myself was a terrible idea. But I don’t think logically when panicking. I was aging, god damnit!

The first few hours were magical. Minute by minute each wrinkle slunk back into the tight skin from whence it came. But then it happened.

First, my forehead started looking shiny. CRAZY shiny. The kind of shiny no amount of matte powder concealer could hide. Okay okay. Shiny forehead. I can deal with this.

Then my eyes began to droop. What. The. Fuck. It looked fucking ridiculous. Like my forehead somehow slid down. Shiny drooping forehead was not okay.

And then the worst. I could not lift my eyebrows. Was I pissed? Was I happy? Was I curious? NO ONE KNEW!! Anyone who knows me knows I make exaggerated expressions. It’s probably why I wrinkled the hell up in the first place. So to not be able to express anything felt like a huge part of who I was was being ripped away.

Andrew: It looks fine.

Me: No it doesn’t!!!

Andrew: You look the same.

Me: I’m really upset right now. But you can’t tell!!  Look now I’m smiling. I look like the god damn Joker!!

Andrew: You’re smiling?

Me: Yes.

Andrew: You look like your plotting a murder.

Me: Wonderful.

This only lasts a 4-5 months, the doctor told me, and then the Botox wears off.  Oh, perfect. I’ll look great in all the Christmas pictures. I'll love explaining why I look scary and shiny to everyone. Fucking perfect.

So I did what I do best. I panicked harder. I joined message boards and support groups and researched the best way to knock this shit out of my system. I actually found a pretty good remedy and was able to get back to normal in 2 months. The LONGEST 2 months of my life. Never. Again.

But now I see it in women everywhere. Drooping, shiny foreheads, expressionless faces. It’s frightening. Do they not see how incredibly crazy they look. 

After it all went away I began wearing my wrinkles and old woman forehead with pride. Aging is way better than looking like an plastic emotionless alien. 

I did, however, get a boob job as a consolation prize. They look magnificent. And human.