“The Knife” by Marilyn Kentz

There comes a point in the life of a baby boomer woman when she looks in the mirror and begins to gently pull her neck skin back to see what she used to look like. I’ve done this many times. Sometimes I’ll even use my hair clips to hold the thin, tender skin in place. However, if I pull the skin to tuck behind the ears, I risk pulling so much I sport the “Beverly Hills Trout Mouth”. I imagine plastic surgeons have the same challenge - and by the looks of things, they haven’t quite conquered it. So, the question in this twenty-first century of aging Beatles’ lovers is which way do I want to age - horizontally or vertically? The decision seems to be regional.

Here in LA it’s the law. The knife is this prairie’s home companion. Grandmas are downright scary here. Gone are the little old ladies who carry their pocketbooks close to their round figures on their way to the beauty parlor to get another permanent wave on their short, white hair. In the City of Angels, you’d hardly recognize that same little lady jogging in her pink velour Juicy (big misnomer) Couture sweat suit on her way to get her hair extensions moved up. Once in a while our LA Grammy will see her reflection in the window glass and lift her really old, French-tipped, manicured hands up to her smooth, transparent cheekbones and begin to weep gratefully, “I’m so beautiful!” They simply do not see themselves the way real people do.

Don’t get me wrong - I don’t have anything against plastic surgery. I got an eye job sixteen years ago. By a surgeon named Dr. Seuss. Not kidding. He gives new meaning to “Thing One” and “Thing Two”. I wouldn’t do it again and I have passed my window of opportunity for my neck. There’s a good reason I stay a little on the chubby side. Can’t embrace the waddle. I’m thinking of moving. I’ve tested it out. I look thin and young among the corn fed.

I understand that all women want to look attractive. Of course we do. That’s why even the elderly wear lipstick. That’s the true goal our LA women are striving for by incorporating the knife into their regimen. They just want to look attractive. However, I contend that we cannot be the best judges of what is attractive at 60-plus. The newly implanted, silicone-cheeked woman, casting a long shadow down her taut face, may see herself as a young, chiseled work of art ... but, trust me, her friends are trying desperately to find a safe, neutral comment, “Wow! Look at you! What a change!” While they’re really thinking:

“Oh my, my - you changed your lips.
You moved your nips,
You sucked your hips.
Your cheeks are tall,
Your tummy’s small
Tell me - was it worth it all?
Skin is tight - eyes won’t close
What happened to your Roman nose?
You have tried each procedure.
And now you look just - like a creature.”

Sorry Dr. Seuss – the both of you.
And sorry sweet, desperate boomers. Time moves on no matter how much skin is removed.