Since no one actually said it about women, but Shakespeare said it in regard to frailty, I feel comfortable enough to coin this phrase.
Once again, the name has been changed to protect the clueless…
A little while ago, I saw a gentleman (again with the gentleman! OY!) walking into our synagogue and I inquired after his health.
Actually, I just said, “How are you, Mr. Waldman?”
And he answered, “Not so good. What do you ladies do for this?”
And he proceeded to show me a something on his face–a liver spot? A discoloration of some sort, but hardly really hardly noticeable. Really really not noticeable. I couldn’t even see it once he pointed it out to me.
So I said, honestly, “Um, I don’t know what other ladies do, but I don’t do anything. I would ask a pharmacist. They would know what products are good.”
I wanted to say, “what products would be good enough for you to stop worrying about such a silly thing.”
But I didn’t.
But of course, then I started noticing all of my spots. I have had enough sun in my life before we realized there was danger to these things to make my arms, well, Bambi-like. If I do get sun on them, it really becomes noticeable. Most of the year, this isn’t a problem. So I just chalk it up to experience and reality. Would I do something about it if I got a spot on my face?
Okay, perhaps. But all the spots I worry about are because of fear of melanoma, not of beauty.
I guess I’m too vain to worry about it.