My Beef with Botox

I have considered Botox. I am 39 years old, and let’s face it, there’s a wrinkly handbag where my forehead used to be.  My friends are all so kind when they tell me I don’t need it. If I lived in California, everyone would say, ‘oh yeah, sweetie, you need it’. If  I lived in North Dakota, they are probably like, ‘what’s Botox?’ So maybe in Seattle, we’re on the neutral, middle ground.

It has been established that I am a product whore. I try everything with the tag line, “eliminates wrinkles”, or “smooths fine lines”.

Beef fat is NOT one of these I would have thought to try.

Sadly, a 63 year old woman injected herself with rendered beef fat into her own face. She died from infection. She had done this several times before the fatal shot. This isn’t an article from The Onion. Awful is all I can say. What are we coming to if this is even an idea in people’s heads?? Here’s the article:

My problem is, I am guilty of being one of those people trying to be perfect. To be thinner, blonder, younger…you name it. But then there’s the other half of me that says ‘SCREW IT! I have it so good!! I can walk, run, skip, put my legs behind my head in yoga (don’t even go there). I can see, smell, cook, eat, dance, laugh…. the list goes on and on. WHY do we torture ourselves?

The song from Brandi Carlisle, “The Story”, comes to mind. “All of these lines across my face, tell you the story of where I’ve been…”

It’s an awesome song. Powerful. A love song. And now and then when I start to beat myself up for stupid, shallow stuff, I play that song on my iPod.

My laugh lines around my eyes, and those expression lines on my forehead, are like badges of all my silly antics, and the crazy stuff my kids say. How can we not laugh or express ourselves, but just be frozen?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ll continue to care for my skin, to enjoy the products out there. I’ll get facials when my budget allows it. I’m not saying don’t Botox. I’m not saying I’ll never Botox. I’m saying, chill out and enjoy yourself. You’re perfect.

“F-ing Perfect”, as Pink sings.

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