When I'm Sixty-Four

I have been spending an exorbitant amount of money on personal maintenance. Seriously my friends. Between the waxing, facials and mani-pedis, I’m headed for the poor house.

Here’s my theory. The more you start to indulge in these quick aesthetic tune-ups, the more you start to need them. I’m serious. When I was only getting one mani-pedi every two months or so, my feet were soft, toes lovely, hands like butter. Now? Scaly chipped, peeling and cracked after like five days. Sure, summer plays a role, but I think there’s a greater evil lurking in the shadows.

Age. There, I said it.

I get it now.

The older you get, the fatter, dryer, pastier, frizzier and wrinklier you get. It’s all true. Holy fuck.

Anyway, my point. With the pending nuptials bearing down on me, I’ve been feeling some added pressure to get the car into the shop, so to speak. Through out the summer I’ve been going for monthly facials, I’ve had purifying back treatments, hair cuts and colours. I’ve been springing for the “good” shampoo.

Naturally, summer requires waxing. I’ve been upping the ante and going full burn on the bikini in prep for poolside in Sin City. Also, have added eyebrows to the list, something that until this year, I’ve always tended to myself. Now there’s no going back! The brows need a professional! That arch, that perfectly “natural shape” that is SO NOT NATURAL AT ALL. I can’t do that. No way.

Then there's the ever present gym-membership. Plus I’ve been religious about weekly yoga. And this week I added a tanning package to the list. Tan lines won’t do, will they? NO THEY WILL NOT.

Add up all these services and it feels like springing for the full detailing at the car wash, you don’t really want to pay someone to shake out your mats, but do it yourself? As if.

So this fall, when I’m wearing last year’s boot cut jeans, instead of this year’s drainpipes; and if you see me in pointy-toed kitten heels, instead of round toed platforms; just know, underneath those out-of-date fashions lies smoothly waxed skin, soft, supple heels and a bloody expensive tan.

My one saving grace? Am off food. Saving a few bucks there. But trust me, once I’ve actually fit into my dress, I’ll be back on the burgers, and those few extra dollars will be flying out the window as well.

Will I give up my other services then, too? Somehow, I don’t see it happening. Like prune juice and comfortable shoes, looks like they are just an inevitable part of my future.