Botox and Bonnevilles

Happy or sad?

Toombsday and I engaged in an uncomfortable activity that falls somewhere in between job interview and gynecologist exam -- the realm of car shopping. It was during this experience that I had a revelation: there is a purpose for Botox.

Since my brief observation of the plastic robot serum in celebrities such as Posh Spice and Nicole Kidman (whom I adore), I thought Botox was primarily a chemical of narcissism for people harboring some Peter Pan complex or unhealthy obsession in the Fountain of Youth.

Nay, I tell you, there is a real and useful purpose for Botox. Car salesmen and aspiring poker champions. Hear me out. Have you ever sat across the table from either of these types? I’m always looking for some facial expression of anger, empathy or humanity from them. Searching for some entree into negotiation or strategy because Lord knows that their words are misleading.

Enter Botox. There is no emotion from them at all. The golf tan forehead betrays no weakness. The whole exchange is like negotiating with a slippery electric eel. Nothing says balls of steel other than “I inject deadly neuromuscle toxin into my forehead twice a year.” I think there may be a market here.

In case you’re wondering, Toombsday plays poker. And he bluffed them into oblivion. Team Marvelous 2, Minions of Doom 0.