Why I'm (still) not getting Botox

I have been thirty-two years old for seven days and seven nights. I might find this young, but from a certain age, it sounds a bit sad. As is customary, I celebrated my birthday too early, so I could still deny it medium light.

Those thirty-two years leave their marks. Cheerful marks on the hips, lovely marks in memories, and relentless marks on the forehead. I'm just saying it like it is. Now I am blessed with smooth skin, but it doesn't do what it used to do in terms of elasticity and color. Back then, I could easily go from pub to pub for five days straight, coming home on the weekend without a wrinkle or line and pretending I was just diligently studying.

That time is looooong gone. I have two vertical lines of about one centimeter positioned between my eyebrows. On the forehead, they are of the horizontal kind, three firm ones stacked from left to right (or four, if you look closely). And then you start to think: should I consider botox? But then I also hear a little voice in my head saying: if you start botox now, what will you do in ten years? I think that voice is right, so I experiment with peels, connective tissue boot camps, and everything that might/could possibly help.

May always says that I shouldn't worry so much about those few frown lines, but that if I want to do something, I must never forget a serum. Naturally, I want the best serum on the market, literally and figuratively. So you end up with drops of hope from philosophy. The design, the ‘renewed hope in a jar’, the luxury of the drop, the result...

After seven days of four drops in the morning and four drops in the evening, the skin is smoother, give it two weeks and your texture improves, in a month the skin becomes much brighter. You will keep that youthful skin for a very long time. On to thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, etcetera, etcetera.