Cat Fight–The REAL Story

Here’s what really happened.  Four of us meet for breakfast to talk about a writer’s conference trip we are all taking to New York this summer to land agents and fabulous book and movie deals on our fascinating and hilarious lives as romance novelists/mothers/wives/slash/hacks/dog owners and, you know, a couple of other projects we’ve got stashed under the bed that we’re gonna take out and dust off and turn into gold. 

Wendy is late, as usual.  Don’t get me started.  Anyway, she comes skidding in to the restaurant, drops to into her chair, snaps her fingers for the ‘girl’ then goes off on her wrinkle jag, which we all know is a bid for attention.  The woman is adorable.  I don’t get the whole, “Oh, look at my teensy wrinkle and feel sorry for me,” deal.  But we have to humor her.  “Yeah, yeah, Wendy.  What are ya gonna do about the grand canyons on your face today?”  Furtive eye-rolling behind the menu.

In fact, while she was blathering on about the wrinkle thing, I snapped a pic of her with my phone, just to prove my point.

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wait… I got it here somewhere…

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Oh.  Yeah.  Here.  Now.  I ask you.  Is this a face or is this a face?  I just want to gobble her up.

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"Clinique has this AMAZING new product that they claim firms and tightens..."

 

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Over coffee (we’ve migrated to Starbucks by now) the four of us figure out all the details of our trip to the eastern seaboard and decide to ditch the writer’s meeting we’d planned on attending that morning in Portland and hit the mall instead. 

Wendy was still nattering about this miracle stuff she was going to spend waaaaaay too much money on and I wanted to find some pants that would make me look 40 lbs. lighter.

As I was off looking for “skinny jeans” (sheyeah, what a crock) Wendy gave us the slip.  We finally found her seated in the chair behind the Clinique counter getting her upper lip spackled.  Okay.  I get it now.  The whole wrinkle cream gig isn’t about fixing your wrinkles.  No.  Oprah, are you listening, because this is the real SECRET.  Wrinkle cream IS NOT about ‘fixing a problem’.  It’s about ‘confusing the eye’.  It’s about slathering a whole bunch of gummy stuff on your lip and telling you that your wrinkles are gone and then charging you $174 + tax. 

Wendy, I’m only gonna say this once.  “The emperor has no clothes!  B-U-C-K Naked!

Of course your friends are going to tell you that the flaky, chalky, goofy crud on your upper lip looks great because we love you. 

"I can't nove ny lits cuz this stuff is sooter hard!"

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Truth be told, we simply had no where else to look.  We had to avert our eyes.  That’s why no one noticed wrinkles.  A person can’t see when they’re all squinty-eyed and cringing. 

Carolyn

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3 Comments

Filed under aging, BOTOX, Children, Cooking, Death, Dogs, Fifteen Minutes of Fame, friendship, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, Weight gain, Weight Loss, wrinkle erasers, wrinkles

3 responses to “Cat Fight–The REAL Story

  1. I am laughing right out of my chair. You had to be there 😀

  2. I’ve never laughed so hard in my entire life as Wen, Carolyn, Su and I walked through Macy’s … and Wendy’s upper lip started flaking off. Wish I was kidding. Really wish I was kidding. We made such a spectacle of ourselves that parents were pointing us out (like the kids could miss us tromping through the upper-scale store with a K-Mart shopping cart!) and saying if they don’t drink milk and eat healthy, THAT’S what they have to look forward to in their … advanced … years.

    Security in the mall is still viewing the tape to see where we hid the alcohol. It’s now been turned into a crowd-control training video on how to handle menopausal women. Wrinkle cream stands are now part of SWAT battle gear.

    Thanks for a memorable time, ladies!!
    XOXOX

  3. Okay for you, Carolyn, it’s your eternal damnation, not mine. A.) I was ON TIME (for once). I was last, not late. B.) I grew up in the restaurant business and have never in my entire life snapped my fingers and called out, “Girl!” Well, once at a Boy George concert, but that has nothing to do with this. C.) I can’t think of a “C”; I’m too upset. This is even worse than when you tried to steal George Clooney from me.

    Wendy
    P.S. I am still trying to chip that wrinkle crap off my upper lip. I’ll call you as soon as I can form letter sounds again.

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