It"s Never Too Late for a Facelift
It started with Fran.
Next was Norma.
Then Rose.
Finally Sylvia.
I always thought we were a normal group of women doing what women of a certain age did.
We have lunch once or twice a week, play cards, go to the beauty salon, talk about our children, and grandchildren, and look forward to the next sale at our favorite department stores.
To me, it was out of the blue when Fran told the group she had decided to have a facelift.
What? She was a former model, married for more than 25 years, had three grand kids, and wintered in Florida.
Why would she elect to have surgery with no apparent reason to do so? Fran broke the news to us one Friday afternoon as we ate Chinese chicken salad and gossiped about things we saw on television.
I was stunned.
Norma was not.
Rose was intrigued.
Sylvia was interested to see how it went.
Not only was Fran going to have a facelift, but she was incredibly open and willing to talk about it.
I thought vain Hollywood stars trying to rekindle their fifteen minutes of fame had procedures like this.
She told us that it wasn't just about herself.
She wanted to do it for her husband, who deserved to smile every time he looked at the women on his arm, and so that she could feel young even if social security payments were in her future.
Her facelift was to be performed by a very accomplished doctor at a facility close to her home.
Her daughter would drive her to the appointment and the entire procedure would be done before lunch.
The cost was negligible, and the results promised to take thirty years of wear and tear off of a face that once adorned the cover of magazines.
Needless to say, the facelift went great.
Fran was incredibly happy, and even I have to admit that she looked amazing.
Norma needed little convincing and opted to use the same surgeon.
Rose waited six or eight months and followed suite.
Sylvia was a year or so behind Rose.
Only I was left and I began to question myself.
I really have nothing to be concerned about or unhappy with.
My marriage is rock solid, just as it has always been.
My kids were grown up, married, gainfully employed, and my eldest daughter had two beautiful children of her own.
I certainly don't look in the mirror at night and feel as though I need a change, but every time I have lunch with the ladies, I wonder if a facelift was such a bad idea.
I mentioned it once to my husband who gave the classic answer, "Honey, if that's what you want, then that's great.
" I still don't know what I want.
I am healthy and happy.
I am in good shape and plan to live many more enjoyable years.
I just don't know if I want to continue my journey with this face, or make the same decision that my friends have.
Next was Norma.
Then Rose.
Finally Sylvia.
I always thought we were a normal group of women doing what women of a certain age did.
We have lunch once or twice a week, play cards, go to the beauty salon, talk about our children, and grandchildren, and look forward to the next sale at our favorite department stores.
To me, it was out of the blue when Fran told the group she had decided to have a facelift.
What? She was a former model, married for more than 25 years, had three grand kids, and wintered in Florida.
Why would she elect to have surgery with no apparent reason to do so? Fran broke the news to us one Friday afternoon as we ate Chinese chicken salad and gossiped about things we saw on television.
I was stunned.
Norma was not.
Rose was intrigued.
Sylvia was interested to see how it went.
Not only was Fran going to have a facelift, but she was incredibly open and willing to talk about it.
I thought vain Hollywood stars trying to rekindle their fifteen minutes of fame had procedures like this.
She told us that it wasn't just about herself.
She wanted to do it for her husband, who deserved to smile every time he looked at the women on his arm, and so that she could feel young even if social security payments were in her future.
Her facelift was to be performed by a very accomplished doctor at a facility close to her home.
Her daughter would drive her to the appointment and the entire procedure would be done before lunch.
The cost was negligible, and the results promised to take thirty years of wear and tear off of a face that once adorned the cover of magazines.
Needless to say, the facelift went great.
Fran was incredibly happy, and even I have to admit that she looked amazing.
Norma needed little convincing and opted to use the same surgeon.
Rose waited six or eight months and followed suite.
Sylvia was a year or so behind Rose.
Only I was left and I began to question myself.
I really have nothing to be concerned about or unhappy with.
My marriage is rock solid, just as it has always been.
My kids were grown up, married, gainfully employed, and my eldest daughter had two beautiful children of her own.
I certainly don't look in the mirror at night and feel as though I need a change, but every time I have lunch with the ladies, I wonder if a facelift was such a bad idea.
I mentioned it once to my husband who gave the classic answer, "Honey, if that's what you want, then that's great.
" I still don't know what I want.
I am healthy and happy.
I am in good shape and plan to live many more enjoyable years.
I just don't know if I want to continue my journey with this face, or make the same decision that my friends have.
