LET’S GET YOUNG
Dr. Baker,” I said, “I look awful.”
He looked at me with a tragic smile and said, “Fear not. We can do a lift. You’ll be just fine.”
“I’m 56,” I said. “And I think it’s about time. Don’t you?”
He put his arm around me and said sorrowfully, “It’s time.”
“Is there anything less invasive than a lift?” I had heard about a nip-andtucky kind of thing.
“We’ll fix you up. Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll look seven years younger.”
“And how long will that me last?” I asked.
“Some seven years,” he said.
He gave me a mirror, a hand mirror, under the brightest of fluorescent lights. It said MAGNIFIER X8.
I looked in. I got dizzy and started to gasp. Clearly there was no way out.
In the mirror I saw a wrinkled, witchlike, scrunched-up, squashed face.
The mirror spoke to me menacingly, whispering in my ear. It said, “Without any doubt, you are not the fairest of them all. You are not fair at all!”
I put the mirror down quickly so Dr. Baker would not hear it.
“How long will it take?” I asked the doctor cavalierly. “This new me?”
“If you do an eye lift, two weeks. Without that, maybe nine
