My Favorite Midlife Crisis Read Online Free Page B

are interested in thirty-year-olds aren’t interested in fifty-year-olds looking thirty. They want the real deal. It’s more than just physical. It’s all wound up with mortality.”
    “You did Elaine Markowitz. She doesn’t look thirty.”
    “Elaine needed it for her work. The young fry were nibbling at her sales. And she’s been divorced seven years. One year is my absolute minimum. You need to get the emotional stuff worked out first so your expectation for the surgery is realistic. I’m not saying that if you want it badly enough, you won’t find a surgeon to take your money. But your skin is entirely age appropriate. You have very nice fifty-year-old skin. Would a lift help? Sure. It would refresh your look. Come back to me in a year or two.”
    “Okay,” I agreed with an eagerness that surprised me. Up to that moment, I’d thought I wanted the surgery.
    “You could use a little help around the eyes, though. The left one is a drooper. Droopy lids make you look tired. Blepharoplasty is an outpatient procedure these days. You’d be surprised what getting rid of that sag and that pocket of fat can do to improve your appearance. Here’s a brochure.” He pushed over a pamphlet featuring on its cover a gorgeous female who appeared to be a college freshman. The headline, in twenty-point boldface type, read, “Look Younger, Sexier, and More Competitive.”
    “I’ll think about it.” I heard myself sighing.
    As I got up to leave, I made departing patient chatter à la Elaine Markowitz. From the gallery of personal photos lined up behind him, one especially caught my eye. Hank with a darling toddler in his lap. “Your granddaughter’s adorable,” I said. “They’re so cute at that age.”
    He swiveled. “Ah, my pumpkin Carolyn. Yeah, she’s cute but a handful. Actually, Carolyn’s my daughter. That’s her mother. Tiffany.” He pointed to the largest frame. Within its gold borders, a stunning brunette smiled a perfect “I have everything” smile. The absolutely straight teeth had not yet begun to shift back into their pre-orthodontic positions. She was, stretching it, thirty-five.
    “Lovely,” I murmured, wondering if my wince would etch a new line. I couldn’t help myself; I said, “I remember Linda. Laura? From back at Hopkins.”
    “Lisa. She went into dermatology. Damn fine physician. We divorced a few years ago.” He smiled sheepishly. “You know. You grow apart.”
    “And Lisa, did she remarry?”
    “Still at liberty.”
    Of course.
    He moved behind me as I bent to pick up my handbag. He tapped my chart against my shoulder. “No charge for the visit,” he said. “Professional courtesy.”
    I should charge you , I thought, for pain and suffering. For making me even more self-conscious about my drooper, for introducing me to the beauteous young Tiffany, every menopausal woman’s nightmare. “Well, you just stop by and I’ll be glad to return the favor,” I said. He gave me a quizzical look, then the lightbulb zapped on and he laughed.
    “Same old Gwyn,” he said. “Still the comedian.”
    Years ago, when we were doing that pediatric rotation together, Hank dressed me down for wearing a hat shaped like a duck to make the kids laugh before I stuck them. Quack, quack, jab. This was the seventies when such behavior was considered unprofessional.
    “You’re a doctor,” he’d scolded. “They need to trust you. If they laugh at you, how can they trust you?”
    “Since when are trust and laughter incompatible?” Or pain and laughter.
    “All right, Gwyn,” he said now, his hand on the door. “Call me if you want to do the eyes. Otherwise, here’s the prescription: stay out of the sun, drink lots of water, and eat salmon. There’s some very interesting research going on with fish oils and skin elasticity. And don’t work too hard at it. Your skin is fine. You’re a good-looking woman. Some nice man would be lucky to have you.”
    “You don’t happen to have his name, do