This is what writing a book looks like.
I know. None of it’s pretty.
First, I tried to appear shocked in this picture. But I kept checking the shots and I couldn’t make my face looked surprised at all. It was weird. And then I remembered:
Suspend judgment, Monks.
I accidentally got Botox last month.*
It was an accident.
I went to my weed-whacker (laser hair removal lady) and I saw a sign about Botox and I accidentally asked her about it.
And she told me I HAD TO GET IT IMMEDIATELY.**
But I said: NOT BY THE HAIR ON MY CHINNY-CHIN-CHIN, which is a lot and ridiculous, by the way. And I reminded her that I am very deep and organic and un-vain and I would never use money on POISON FOR MY FOREHEAD when I could use it for something like I don’t know, the March of Dimes. Get Behind Me, Satan! I yelled.
But my WEED WHACKER IGNORED MY PLEAS AND RAN AT ME WITH THE NEEDLE and before I knew it I was a Housewife of Orange County.
I’m still shocked about the whole ordeal, although you’d never be able to tell.
Immediately after the attack, I texted Sister and said, “OMG. I just got attacked by Botox.”
And Sarcastic Sister texted back, “I see. Is botulism part of your all organic and detoxifying lifestyle?”
I did not text her back.
Instead, I texted Nervous Husband.
I wrote, “Husband. You will never believe what I just accidentally got!!!”
And he wrote back, “Glennon. Tell me it is not a puppy. Tell me you did not accidentally get a puppy.”
I really want another dog.
And I wrote back, “NO. I got BOTOX.”
And twenty long minutes later, he wrote, “It’s not a puppy you named Botox, is it?”
Anyway, I know it’s ridiculous and vain, but my appointment was the day after the adoption fell through and I thought, well, maybe I can’t save the world, but I can save my forehead, damnit.
You know how you pick your battles with your kids? You let your girl wear tie dye leggings with a neon pink tutu and cowgirl boots and a Monkee Hoodie and lip gloss on her eye-lids to church because you just want to avoid one fight? One meltdown? Because you just need to let something BE? I do the same with myself. I pick my battles with myself. I don’t let myself off the hook for unkindness, shamefulness, gossiping, littering, and things such as this.
But my greedy vanity- I’m keeping it for now. I shall continue to rid myself of chin hairs and grey hairs and the deep crevice in my forehead. I don’t even know why. So I’ll look prettier while I sit behind the computer, I guess. Whatevs. Can’t explain.
I love you, so I just had to tell you. I feel weird when I don’t tell you things. Be nice to me. I’m a little fragile lately. Clearly. With all the attacks.
*I know. I know it’s poison and I’m going to die and I’m an awful person for spending time and money on ridiculous vanity when there are so many actual worthy uses of time and money and energy. Just wanted to let you know I’m aware, in case anyone was truly concerned that I needed to learn that. It’s like flossing- I know it’s the right thing to do- and I still choose not to do it. It’s not a matter of education, just weak will and questionable judgment.
**My amazing face doctor might have a slightly different version of events.
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
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