Why I'm avoiding Botox--and the notion that I have an expiration date.
The first hint that people thought I had an "expiration date" (a visible, indelible mark on my person, saying how much time I had left to be a potential romantic partner or plain old-fashioned piece of ass) came a few days after my divorce was finalized.
I was chatting with a friend when he congratulated me on my newly single status and, predictably, asked about my love life. Well, what he actually said was that I better be collecting as many headboard notches as humanly possible.
I laughed, of course. But instead of playing along, I just went with the truth.
“To be honest, I haven’t thought much about it,” I replied. “There’s so much going on here right now that dating is pretty low on my list of priorities.”