Crossing the Atlantic I Met My Soulmate–in Cosmetic Surgery
We were on a 14 -day Royal Caribbean vessel crossing the Atlantic to Rome, Italy where I decided I needed was facial fillers to go with my recent Botox.
You would not appear in public with unmatched shoes, would you?
I ignored the massage menu because I knew that they were well-above market price. Massages are wonderful, but the joy is fleeting. Anyway, I did have a husband along, and since he was not able to perform his main function of kitchen-magician, I figured that I could always designate him as CEO of my massages.
Dr. Jose Hurtado, expat of the mess also known as Venezuela, placed two hefty portions of Restylane in my nasial-labial folds. This is not enough to fill the Grand Canyon, but I had noticed that my little grooves were starting to resemble the Rio Grande in Summer. Those are the furrows running from the side of your nose to about an inch or two from the upper lip of your mouth.
He also placed some on my marionette lines. Just think of Howdie Doodie when you wonder where they are. If you are old enough to know dear Howdie, then I will bet my diamond ring that you have them. They wear a path from the corner of your lips down to your chin line.
I Bet My Emerald Ring Too!!! Plus all
The Great Jewelry I Bought in Israel
Speaking of lips, right now mine speak volumes. Dr Jose put some of the filler in my lower lip, and just a pinch on my upper lip so that they did not look lopsided. If my lips could sing, the song would be classical rather than heavy metal. In other words, a melody rather than staccato noise. I did not need that or hip hop on my face.
Dr. Hurtado is not board certified, because he got out of Venezuela by the skin of his teeth. I know that this alone flies in the face of my previous advice on going with only board certified practitioners. He is certified in fillers and Botox, but then so are the savviest of nurse practitioners . I will tell you this much: Don’t try this at home. I spent 15 years as a psychiatric nurse, and in that profession you learn how to be a Ph.D. in people reading. My gut told me to go with him, and per usual, my gut is right.
Now, if only the TSA would employ retired psyche nurses, we could all rest comfortably in coach.