An attractive young woman at a kiosk in the mall catches my attention.

Oh, how did I let this happen?  I avoid these people at all costs, and I’ve already dodged about a dozen of them with food for me to taste, with phones to sell me, sunglasses, massages, vitamins, fragrances and myriad other items.  What are they doing in the mall?  I can’t go anywhere without someone wanting to sell me something or sign something.

Damn!  We made eye contact, the hook is in, and she’s reeling it in.

“Will you sit here for just a moment?  I’m only asking for a few minutes that could change your life.”

Well, if you’d said that in the first place.  My life could use some change.

“Did you grow up in Southern California?  “Yes, I did,” I reply, thinking she must be at the very least intuitive, and at the most, psychic.  Or maybe I exude that California Cool.

“That explains the sun damage on your face.”

I’m crestfallen.

“Did you wonder why you have more spots on the left side?”

NOT BEFORE TODAY!

“It’s because it’s your driving side.  More sun exposure on that side.”

I’ve been driving around UNPROTECTED on the left side?  Who knew?

“And these dark circles…” she goes on.  Thus far I had denied ownership of this particular flaw.

“I can correct them with this fabulous cream”

“You have great cheekbones,” she said, “but the skin has fallen below them.”

Wow!  Now I REALLY feel good.

“I have a wonderful cream for that, too.  Let me show you?”

“Sure,” say I.  My god, I could completely melt away right here in the mall if I don’t let her help? me.

“I want to help myself before I age too much,” says my new friend, “like you did,” which I’m sure she’s thinking, although she doesn’t really say that out loud.

I ask her how old she is.  “Thirty-seven.”

Wow, she IS old.  She has lovely skin, but so did I at thirty-seven.

After her demonstration, which feels really warm, but a little sticky on the left side of my face — the “unprotected, spottier” side — she holds up a mirror so that I can see the difference in one side from the other.

Do I see it?  I’d like to believe it, but I think it’s all a mind game.

“If you go on the internet, this entire package would cost you $1500.

“OR, today I could give you all of these products, because I have some open-box samples, for $500.”

Now she’s noticing my face for a different reason, but she continues:

“I could sell you THIS jar of this ONE thing for $300.”

I want to buy it because I don’t want to hurt her feelings (her feelings?), and I want her to think better of me; that I’m a person who cares about those darned spots, the dark circles, and the sagging skin.

Instead, I tell her “I’ll think about it,” my usual response, when deep down inside I’m screaming “LEAVE ME ALONE. WON’T ANYONE LEAVE ME ALONE?”

Maybe when I’m 107, and she’s 72, I’ll come back to the mall and see how bloody good SHE looks.  Wish I’d said that to her, but being the passive aggressive sort that I am, I don’t.

In the meantime, I’m off to the Halloween store to buy a Phantom of the Opera mask.  At the very least, I can cover my “driving side.”

The End