To
Botox Or Not To Botox
I
have been called many things in my life, some nice and some
not so nice, and I have tried not to let them affect me,
but this week I was called something that really shocked
me. This week I came to the understanding that I have entered
the Ma’am phase. You heard correctly, Yours Truly has
been officially labeled a Ma’am and I have no idea
how it happened. On Monday I still considered myself a hip
young thing but by Wednesday I realized that, according
to certain people in my life, I have entered my Carlsberg
years.
The
very thought of being a Ma’am is, to me, laughable,
but to my boss and co-workers that’s exactly what I
am. I am no longer the free spirited, cool young thing that
I thought I was; I am now a woman in her mid-thirties who
has been offered up as a Guinea pig for a new spa being
opened by my employers. I was told that I needed intense
work because my face was haggard and tired looking; I was
also told that I was the perfect candidate because my skin
was ageing and I was in need of Botox. To add insult to
injury the twenty-something bleached blonde who was sitting
behind the desk called me ‘Ma’am’.
Ma’am.
I am many things but Ma’am just ain’t one of ‘em.
To me the word ‘Ma’am’ describes a prim and
proper, uptight spinster-ish woman with a face like a cat’s
arse and I have absolutely no idea why my boss seems to
think that it describes me. I also have no idea why he thought
I would ever be interested in paralyzing my facial muscles.
He just couldn’t seem to understand why I would have
a problem with someone injecting poison around my eyes and
even went on to say that ‘all women my age should have
it done. It makes you look younger and more attractive.’
Excuse me? Since when did women have to paralyze
themselves to be attractive? The look of utter disbelief
on my face really seemed to confuse him, he honestly thought
he was doing me a favor by pointing out that I was old and
needed an overhaul if I was ever going to get myself a man.
He went on to point out that ‘women were doing it every
day, even the receptionist got it done’, at which point
I thought to myself that she should have saved herself the
pain and spent the money on a better dye job.
So
why is it so unacceptable for women of a certain age to
say ‘no’ to plastic surgery? Why are we considered
old and Ma’am-ish if we don’t get on the Botox
bus? When did it become so subversive to want to age naturally?
I am so sick and tired of being told that we have to fight
ageing, that we have to hang on to the look of youth no
matter what and that we will be considered undesirable if
we go against the crowd. I have nothing against people getting
these procedures done, I think everyone has the right to
feel better about themselves; I just don’t want to
be lambasted and labeled for not jumping on the bandwagon.
I don’t feel the need to hide the fact that I have
wrinkles because I’ve earned every single one of them.
I
am not now and I never will be a Ma’am. I am a broad,
a chick, a dame, a bitch, a shit-starter, a bombshell, a
smart ass and one hell of a classy woman who happens to
like her face just the way it is…un-paralyzed and unaltered.
he