Recently I was in New York, emerging from the subway (I try never to take cabs), when a girl waves me into a cosmetic store. After telling her firmly that I can't come in because I'm running late, I enter the shop. I am immediately overtaken by a second girl who asks in an Israeli accent, "Are you Italian or Jewish?" When I tell her I'm neither, I feel inexplicably bad about it. She indicates that I should sit down and asks my age. "67" I tell her, hoping that will explain my saggy and wrinkled skin.
"I hope I look as good when I am 68," she says reassuringly.
I tell her again I'm 67 and I really don't have time right now. She begins her pitch rapid fire which, along with her accent, makes most of what she says incomprehensible to me.
She begins rubbing gel around my left eye. She rubs so hard that it hurts because that's the side of my face I landed on when I took a fall three weeks ago. But I don't say anything. Then she holds up a magnifying mirror and shows me my left and right eyes. One looks moist and the other doesn't. "You see the difference? I wish I had started using this when I was younger because growing up in the sun in Israel, I'm never going to look as good at 69 as you do." I don't bother to correct her this time.
"Can I show you one more thing?" she says as she slathers thick foam on my left cheek without waiting for my answer.
"What do you feel?" she asks. "Nothing" I say. She adds some water to the foam. My cheek starts heating up.
"And now?" she says, proudly, as if the heat proves her point. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to gift you this mask even though normally it costs $500, because I know you will love it so much you will love me and come back to see me all the time. Fair?"
She starts wiping the mask roughly off my face. "Tell me something else. Do you ever use Botox?" I admit sheepishly that I have, in between my eyebrows. "You know Botox is bad for you? And how much do you pay for that?"
I'm stumped but it's okay, she doesn't wait for an answer. "$250? $500? And you have to do it every six months, right? My product is made from stem cells and will last a whole year. You'll never have to do Botox again. It's worth it -- do the math."
Fifteen minutes later I am walking out of the store with my purchases which came to a grand total of $1,500 (I'm not kidding). Oh, and I'm 15 minutes late for my appointment. Beware the Ides of March.
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