Last week I learned I could get Botox for the cost of my regular doctor’s visit co-pay because I have migraines.
So the wheels in my head started turning…
I have never really thought about Botox. Probably because I heard somewhere, I think on the Real Housewives of New Jersey, that a single treatment of Botox would cost about three hundred dollars. And well, honestly, paralyzing a wrinkle or two is just not higher on my priority list than say… A good pair of running shoes, and a race entry. Or a hundred gallons of gas. Or a nice handbag (and just for the record Hubs, I do not own a three hundred dollar handbag). So I never considered Botox. For me.
Until last week. Everything changed when I learned it would cost the same thing to paralyze my wrinkles, as it would cost to go to Subway for lunch.
Then I spent the past few days staring at my face in the mirror trying to figure out which wrinkles to paralyze. I analyzed, and critically reviewed every single line on my forty-seven year old face.
But what really surprised me was that I felt satisfied with my face. I mean, I’m supposed to want to make my wrinkles disappear. Right? I’m not supposed to be as comfortable with my bare-naked-forty-seven-year-old face and my old-lady-in-waiting wrinkles as I am in stretchy jeans after a Fiber One bar. But I am.
And as I thought more about the Botox, and analyzed why I wasn’t as upset about my newly discovered wrinkles as my friends are about their wrinkles, the insanity of all of this hit me.
Why would I even consider shooting up my face with Botox when I am trying so hard to avoid processed food?
Why would I consider paralyzing muscles -even if they were wrinkle inducing muscles, when I am building muscle to carry my ass thirteen miles through the streets of Nashville in a couple of weeks?
Why would I buy organic fruits and vegetables and then purposely inject my body with a toxin?
So I went to Subway.