GRIN # 65
So, I have a confession to make: I take a little nip of the Botox once in a while.
Surprised?
I did it for a story. It was either that or laser hair removal of the armpit (shudder). I’m not that hairy of a person.
Anyway, I really liked the results. I battle both wrinkles and acne so if I can paralyze the former, I’m all for it.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not seriously addicted. Not like those scary co-anchors you see on Inside Edition. I can’t stop watching them, their orange skin stretched across their faces like Saran Wrap. But I digress.
I’ve only had Botox once after the story incident, in July, but I was thinking of getting a refill before my 20th reunion.
Then I saw the study. Recently Italian researches discovered that in rats, Botox (a form of botulism that paralyzes the muscles) occasionally seeped back into the rats’ brains, causing damage. Yeah. Brain damage.
Damn! Doesn’t that always happen when you find something you like?
That’s it. No more of that stuff for me. I’m on the wagon.
I mentioned it to my mom and sister over the weekend, casually.
“Huh,” my sister said. “Go ahead and do it if you want to. If that doesn’t get you, something else will. Eating baloney or something like that. ”
Baloney? That’s close to sausage, and we all know how I feel about that.
“You know,” my mom chimed in, “You could just get it one more time before the reunion and then stop.”
Enablers!
This encouragement can only mean two things:
1. I’m already brain-damaged to the point that a little more won’t hurt; and
B. My wrinkles are bad enough to justify the risk.
Frankly, one of my wagon wheels is getting a little wobbly.
GRIN 