So, this is my read of the week. As a woman who does, indeed, feel bad about her neck, I’m finding it both delightful….and painful. Here’s what Nora has to say in the first essay.
Oh, the necks. There are chicken necks. There are turkey gobbler necks. There are elephant necks. There are necks with wattles and necks with creases that are on the verge of becoming wattles. There are scrawny necks and fat necks, loose necks, crepey necks, banded necks, wrinkled necks, stringy necks, saggy necks, flabby necks, mottled necks. There are necks that are an amazing combination of all of the above. According to my dermatologist, the neck starts to go at forty-three, and that’s that. You can put makeup on your face and concealer under your eyes and dye on your hair, you can shoot collagen and Botox and Restylane into your wrinkles and creases, but short of surgery, there’s not a thing you can do about a neck. The neck is a dead giveaway. Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth. You have to cut open a redwood tree to see how old it is, but you wouldn’t have to if it had a neck.
Necks aren’t her only subject. She covers our health and our purses and our failing vision and memory. I’m wondering what a man would think if he read it. Anyway, it’s a nice little collection of essays that are well written and help me try to keep a sense of humor about things that aren’t feeling so funny.
2 comments:
Yes! And, as I lose weight, my crepy, wattly neck gets more obvious. One of my sisters wants to have her eyelids lifted. I'd rather get my neck done. Carrie
I listened to this when driving to see Richey last year. Oh, my. I laughed because it hit so close to home. Black turtlenecks are a big part of my wardrobe.
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