I got to thinking about how good Mr. B manages to look these days. I am sure he has a whole team to work on him, drugs like a NASCAR pit crew. I was racking my brain as to how I could emulate all this good grooming, and it hit me: botox! I already work out, have a more than competent hairstylist, and Iâ€™d like to think Iâ€™m not a terrible slouch in the fashion department. But I am starting to wrinkle a bit, and that one stubborn wrinkle between my eyes really bugs me.
This idea got my home dermatology juices flowing, so I looked up how to make botox. You really can find anything on the internet. It turns out itâ€™s mostly denatured alcohol, salt, and egg white. You can approximate the paralytic effect of the toxin with pyrethrin, which is a common pesticide ingredient! Thus began the bathroom chemistry. It looked pretty gross, but I dabbed some on with a cotton ball and waited a few minutes. It burned like a sonofabitch for a bit, but eventually the whole area went numb! Unfortunately there was no discernable visual change, so I figured you really do have to inject it, itâ€™s not going to get through to the muscle otherwise.
I have a syringe that I scammed off my diabetic pal. I use it to refill my one nice fountain pen, and I figured “if that moron can inject herself every single day, surely I can master this.” I spent the rest of the afternoon practicing on an orange, with an Allure Magazine spread on botox for reference. Not too hard really. I braced my elbow on the toothbrush holder in the bathroom for steadiness and gave the wrinkle a poke. Andâ€¦ it hurt. A lot. The end result is a giant weeping sore. Bugger. I donâ€™t think Iâ€™ll be going out this weekend, unless Mr. H makes me go to a doctor. I am half-tempted to post a picture and get everyoneâ€™s best amateur medical evaluations. So far Iâ€™ve just been spritzing on tea tree oil, like every fifteen minutes.