I just got a profile look at myself in the mirror while putting my hair up, and got an awful shock: I have a serious, possibly malignant, case of Reagan-Neck.
Men have an easy time of it: you guys can just grow a beard. What am I supposed to do? Tie my hair in a bow under my chins? Wait till the Reagan-Neck reaches such proportions that I can tie it behind my head?
This is not a simple matter of a double-chin due to overweight; I do have about 20 pounds to lose. This is that sonofoabitch Gravity causing my face to slowly slip off my skull like it had been left out overnight in the rain. DAMN YOU, SIR ISAAC NEWTON!!
A simple lipo/chin-tuck costs about $3,000 . . . I could manage that. I’ll call my old friend Olivia Goldsmith and see how hers went . . . ooops.
Anyone here suffer from The Heartbreak of Reagan-Neck? What have you done about it? Anyone have a neck-tuck done without dying or winding up looking like a monkey in a wind tunnel?
My dad had it done. He checked into the hospital under an assumed name. It looks marvelous. He’s also had an eyelift. (Isn’t it wonderful to have parents who don’t know how to turn a computer on, let alone how to get on the internet?)
-Lil
I’ll have to find out who does Joan Rivers and Cher, and cross that doctor off my list.
Damn Sir Isaac “Ooooh, I have a good idea!” Newton for inventing gravity in the first place! Before that, everyone had a spring in their step . . . your hair always looked bouncy . . . women didn’t need bras . . And no one had Reagan-Neck! Next time I’m in England I’m going to Westminster Abbey, dig him up and kick his bony ass!
Although I also somehow picture Eve singing “Hello, my baby! Hello, my honey! Hello, my ragtime gal…” and doing the little dance, and I must admit, I find it a little distrubing.
Actually, I sing that quite often (though w/o the littrle hat and cane) and know the whole song!
Weirdly, the NYT Magazine has a big section of aging and face-lifts today . . . They also have one on National Security and why we’re screwed, the upshot of which is “why bother getting your necked tucked, you’re only going to get blown up in a month or so anyway . . .”
But when they dig my remains out of the PATH tunnel, I want them to say, “doesn’t her neck look smooth and youthful? What’s left if it?”
Actually it wasn’t the song per se that I found disturbing, but rather the mental image of the shiny green tights and tap shoes.
Not quite as refined as I usually picture you.
Eve, I’m sorry to hear about your trickle-down collagen. Do you know any Jewish plastic surgeons willing to do a neck bris? If not, you could give yourself ear flaps with a couple of brass snaps and some minor surgery, or you could use the same technology to give new meaning to the term ‘button your lips’. Alternately, you could train it to follow your form down until it gives you a boon of free breast augmentation. Sadly, by then the girls will be somewhere south of your border.
“The golden years have come at last.
The golden years can kiss my ass!”
Google thermage. It’s a non-surgical procedure that uses radio waves to reactivate collagen production. I just saw an article about it that says the full face can be done for $2500 or so, with areas of the face done for fees starting in the “high hundreds.”
Well then, I think your only other option is to haul out the Ouija board, rustle up the ghost of Ernest Haller and wrest from him the tricks he used on Bette Davis in the last scene of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?.
I’m gonna get the highest, tightestestest facelift you ever saw. I’m gonna have them install a Spam key back there so I can tighten that sucker up every morning. I’m gonna come up with my own line of self-injectible Botox. Called Chotox.
