Good Riddance to Year of the Wrinkle

Personally, I’m glad 1997 is pretty much over. It was not a particularly pleasant year and, surprisingly, I’m not just talking about Kathie Lee Gifford’s Christmas special. Actually, for me the most traumatic event--and I share this only in hopes that my painful story somehow will help others--was when:

I canceled an appointment to have cow goop injected into my face.

This, as you can imagine, was a heart-wrenching decision. I wanted to have cow goop injected into my face more than anything else, with the possible exception of being granted the legal right to assault the next individual who uses the term “El Nino” in my presence.

My deep desire for cow goop, technically referred to as bovine collagen (collagen being defined as “stuff inside your body that you’d just as soon not know about”), began back in September when I attended a cosmetic surgery seminar.

The seminar ad caught my attention because it included valuable medical information indicating that the event was free and that champagne would be served. (I think most health-care professionals would agree that, before making important medical decisions, patients should always be good and liquored-up.)

The fact that I’m 100% obsessed with my facial skin, which currently could be classified as a poorly preserved jerky-type product, also might have had something to do with all this. I’m apparently not alone, though, as there were about 500 other people at this seminar, almost exclusively women.

This female majority was surprising considering that men generally are extremely interested in preserving their facial skin’s youthful luster, even if it means they must on occasion use soap.

Actually, the featured speaker at the seminar turned out to be a man. I listened intently as this dermatologist--who easily could have been mistaken for a GQ model if he’d been about 2 feet taller and his hairline hadn’t receded to, approximately, Nova Scotia--outlined the various options available to improve our appearances.

Laser surgery, which can work to smooth wrinkles significantly, was one of the possible methods presented. And, because lasers merely boil the water inside skin cells, causing steam puffs to rise and producing a layer of ash, there’s really nothing to be concerned about.

The Erbium Yag laser sounded particularly promising. More gentle than other lasers, the Erbium Yag (pronounced “while the average man is hesitant to so much as apply Chap Stick, women are more than willing to, essentially, have their faces set on fire”) requires less anesthesia and promotes quicker healing.

This is a vast improvement over the traditional face-lift, which is a much more invasive procedure and which can, particularly in the case of Hollywood celebrities, result in a highly natural look most commonly associated with Formica.

The doctor showed many impressive “before” and “after” photos of patients who’d undergone laser facial treatments. I was absolutely sold on this procedure until the subject of cost came up. It quickly became evident that this procedure was out of my price range unless the physician was planning, in the near future, on relocating his practice to the 99 Cent Store.

The only feasible possibility, other than accepting my appearance and attempting to secure employment as dried fruit, seemed to be collagen injections. Far less expensive than laser surgery, this procedure involves the injection of purified bovine collagen to fill in facial lines. Smoother skin should result, along with a sudden desire to consume pre-chewed alfalfa.

Before one can have the injections, one must be tested for allergic reactions to bovine collagen, since humans, technically, are not farm animals, not even Donald Trump. I passed the test and was scheduled to be injected on Dec. 22.

On Dec. 21, I looked in the mirror. Then I looked at my bank balance. While each was awfully frightening, I decided the collagen would just have to wait.

Most likely until the cows come home.