My Upper Lip

by

Claudia Harriman

It is early morning in my little house, and the sun is pouring in. My cat, Teddy, and I have just finished breakfast and he is out on the deck blinking in the bright light. I have picked up the dishes and neatened the kitchen, and now I am making the first big decision of my day: what will I wear to work? I have already tussled unsuccessfully with that problem: my bed is covered with outfits thrown helter-skelter as they did not make the cut. I'm back in the bedroom knowing that I don't have much more time to procrastinate. Finally, I put on a tweed suit. It is while I'm tying the blouse bow with the help of the bathroom mirror that I notice, again, the not-so-fine vertical lines on my upper lip

Oh no, not that again, I think, remembering the incident last week when I went for a facial and the young woman said, "You know, you have big lines in your upper lip. They really show, everybody can see them. You really should do something about them." Oh Lord, I moan, thinking of the meeting I have first thing this morning in my office. And at noon, I'm taking customers to lunch, so of course I want to look my best. But then I sit down on the end of the bed, nearly in tears, thinking that nothing looks right on me today. I feel fat. I hate my hair. And I hate my upper lip.

For a few minutes I lie back on the pile of clothes, feeling really sorry for myself. I can't cry because there's no time to repair streaked eye makeup. When Teddy comes into the bedroom, I pull him up onto my lap and bury my face in his long hair. I breathe deeply, and that makes me feel stronger. Okay, Claude, up and at 'em. There's nothing more I can do this morning; I just have to get to work. But I resolve to call a plastic surgeon and at least find out what options there are.

The day of the appointment arrives. The doctor recommends collagen, barring my being allergic to it, which it turns out, I am. He recommends a scraping process. The procedure sounds rather drastic but so effective that I am ready for him to start right then and there. But he is not through his his lecture which includes dire warnings. I must be eternally vigilant with regard to sun production. I must not allow any sun to shine on my face, not even the sun through a windshield. Every single time I go out, I must wear sunblock and a wide brimmed hat. I am so determined to get my lip fixed that I totally forget that I hate hats; I absolutely hate them!

I am ready to do anything necessary to get rid of those offending lines. It is now October. I make arrangements to take my whole vacation time, four weeks, all at once, right after New Year's. I tell my best friend, verify that she won't be going on vacation herself at that time, and swear her to secrecy. She will be the only person to come to my house during that time. I will need her to bring me groceries, movies, new magazines, library books. She will keep me in touch with news of our friends and the outside world.

So, that's the plan. I am all excited. In a short while, I'll be beautiful. Yay!

Then, one morning while getting dressed, I look critically at myself in the mirror and I have to laugh. I say, "You are  such  a jerk, Claude.  It's not only your upper lip that's getting old, it's your whole body!"

I call the plastic surgeon's office and cancel the whole procedure.

 

Claudia Harriman retired in 2005 and discovered a whole new way of life when she enrolled in a creative writing course. She had worked in a bank for many years and looked forward to retiring -- spending time with her husband, grandchildren, and adopting a dog. Those pleasures are ongoing together with her enjoyment of writing. Choosing from the dozens of short stories she has written, she plans to publish a collection soon.