Skype and the Needle

Horrors.

Me on Skype is no pretty picture.

Deep wrinkles. Shadowed crevices. Furrowed brow.

And I am not even smiling. Nope. No laugh lines or crows feet etched. A straight face. Relaxed.

Scary. Very.

Even Charlie looked amazed. I could see his jet-lagged expression of repulsion when my video snapped into view. Unsure as to whether it was his initial reaction to his pint-sized bedroom overlooking Quarry Bay. Or, a knee jerk expression to the sight of his beloved Mama on camera.

No Meredith Viera here. Imagine an extra ten pounds and the wrinkles of a SharPei. No thank you very much. A big resounding no to my dream of becoming a television celeb. Not too sure how that was going to occur, but it is scratched off my bucket list in permanent Magic Marker.

So this is how I sit now. I have practiced. My facial expression. Position of my hands. The degree of closeup. The angles. The lighting.

Posing and finetuning my position.

Elbows firmly resting on my desk. Fingers not so gently pulling back the sagging skin taut around my eyes, my jowls. The heels of my hands holding up the double chin.

Better. Much.

Pause for thought.

Am I now ready to contemplate the needle? Inject botulism into my facial muscles? A syringe of Botox here? A shot of Juvaderm there?

Hmmmmm.

A woman must have her secrets.

But this one is too broke and a bit intimidated of poison flowing so close to her brain cells ... the ones that survived the college acid trips and way too loud rock music at wigged out concerts, the anti-mosquito pesticides sprayed from the back of trucks rolling throughout our Highlands neighborhood every summer and the effects of nearly six decades of grey matter on overdrive.

But hey ... it is a most definite strategic option for serious consideration. When my ship comes in!