Sitting with a group of girlfriends at our favorite local wine tasting room, getting caught up on our lives, over lots of laughter, swapping gossip and tips on families, work, shopping, and husbands, when the subject inevitably turned to aging…what we love (grandkids!) and what we hate (gravity). Naturally, we immediately began collectively congratulating each other on how young we all look and how “50 is the new 40.” (How do you think we all became best friends? On this particular subject, objective honesty will get you tossed out of the boat. In a world that puts 14-year-olds on the cover of Vogue, one’s invite into our inner circle is determined simply by your ability to say “You look faaabulous” like you mean it.)
About halfway through the evening, I looked over and saw a woman staring at me from another table like she recognized me, but wasn’t sure from where. I gave her a friendly smile, and a few minutes later, she approached our table. I thought she was going to join us, but as I went to grab her a chair, she looked directly at me and said, “Hi. I’m new to the area, and I’m looking for a good place to get my Botox and other cosmetic injectables. You looked like you would know. Any recommendations?”
I LOOKED LIKE I WOULD KNOW??
As my friends choked on their wine in unrestrained merriment and I desperately searched my brain for how this might even be a SHRED of a compliment, I finally sighed, what the hell, and jotted down the number on a napkin. She left, all happy smiles, chatting on her iPhone as she walked out the door, while I debated running after her and asking her to book a two-for-one. Apparently I’m overdue.