Confessions from a Botox Addict

I've said this repeatedly. The only fun thing about turning 45 is that I don't look 45. That fact warms my vain little heart. And make no mistake about it, vanity kills ... your wallet. I never thought I would be one to turn to the magic "line-erasing" elixir fondly referred to in the media as Botox, but upon inspection of ever-increasing lines in undesirable places, I succumbed. Many of you may wonder why in the world I would make such an admission. Well, I have been forever irked by those women (and men) who stroke their Botox-injected face and make the false claim that it's "good genes." One glance at the glass-smooth brows of these people and all credibility flies out the cosmetic window. If you're going to belly up to the Botox bar, you might as well admit it. And thus, the confession made with a blithe shrug. Because here is the real deal, once you've done it and see the results ... well, it's like the worst addictive substance. The truth is, you look darned great (well, some people do). I'm not going to mince words here. I have Botox injected between my brows and on my forehead, and it looks fantastic. You get to watch lines dissipate within days. I used to say I would never have a facelift too. Now I'm kind of curiously pondering the idea. So, if you look at me and think I look like I'm still in my thirties, truth is I've had a little help -- and then the rest is, frankly, good genes ... oh, and a generous helping of sunscreen for the last 30 years. And there you go! I've now "confessed" on the eve of my 45th birthday. And if you want to get "you some of that," go see Cherry Frame from A Glow of Youth. Thank you Cherry!