Gateway Drugs

This morning, while the co-workers were smoking (and yes, I join them partly because I don't want them talking about me and partly because I'm clingy) we were accosted by a rather jittery young man who had a really elaborate tale leading up to really needing a can of "fix-a-flat." We immediately decided that he was looking for a huffing fix and not a tire fix. My approach was to IM my most disreputable friends and ask if the kids today are huffing fix-a-flat. Evil Side Kick went to the internet and found some society with a long, official sounding name to confirm that yes, kids to day huff fix-a-flat. (On a side note, my friends would only admit to huffing whipping cream and cheese from a can. I need cooler friends.)

Then, this evening, while watching the Thursday night line up, there was a preview for Joan River's next plastic surgery. When all the sudden I had this horrifying thought. What if I turned into one of those old people, ahem Monkeys, who has surgical procedure after procedure in a badly thought out attempt to avoid oldness?

I can be all self-righteous now . . . when I'm young and terribly cute . . . but some day I might not be so delightfully adorable. What then? For years, I was content to cut my own hair. . . but sheer vanity has led me to embark on a rather rocky relationship with a professional hair styling type person. What if the professional hair styling type person is a gateway drug?

What if some day I'm accosting strangers on the street . . . begging for a little pick me up shot of botox?