I hate to admit it, but I've reached the age where you begin to wonder whether the Fountain of Youth really exists, and whether there really is a Pillar of Fire hidden in the dormant volcano somewhere in middle of Africa where H. Rider Haggard's Queen Ayesha gained immortality.
It's pathetic really.
I used to pooh-pooh the women who run off during lunch breaks to fill up on Botox, or discuss which doctor offers a more natural nose job while they sip their afternoon tea. "I would never go for any of that," I said to myself. I'm going to age gracefully, wrinkles and all, though I'll make an exception for colouring my hair. After all, I quite like the idea of ash berry streaks this year, or blueberry tints for next season.
I am appalled when I hear about youngsters having all sorts of "jobs" done to them _ eye jobs, nose jobs, chin jobs, boob jobs, butt jobs, cheekbone jobs, you name it. At the risk of sounding totally egotistical, I think Thai ladies are not bad-looking on average. Our almond eyes might not be as prominent as the deep-set Western eyes, or our nose as aquiline, but I think we're not too bad as far as the female of the species goes.
And it's even worse when you hear of all the quack doctors out there ripping off these youngsters with cheap treatments, and it's sad to know that our society puts so much face value into physical perfection that these kids are willing to pay much of their hard-earned money to achieve that perfect face or figure.
Yet I was recently drawn into a discussion of "fillers" and laser treatments to bring life to sagging skin. I couldn't help glancing into the mirror and seeing the deep ruts around my nose and mouth, and the droop in my eyelids. If I keep my chin up, my neck looks acceptably smooth, but once I look down at my toes the flaps appear, like the daddy of walruses.
It's not a pretty sight.
I've perfected all those little tricks like always lying on your back so you won't wake up looking like an origami crane, or never sitting under a down-light that shows off every single wrinkle you never knew you had. Neon lights are harsh, so I've replaced them with "warm" light bulbs. The fact that they are also energy-saving is a by-product of my vanity.
But somehow that mirror seemed to magnify all the (what I thought were) tiny little imperfections and I immediately knew how the Evil Queen felt when her magic mirror told her she was past her sell-by date and going downhill.
Pass me the La Mer cream, the SKII lotion, the Sisley serum, and let me drown in it please!
I almost signed up on the spot for the laser lift, until I realised that it would be stretching my credit limit beyond its capacity, and I went home with my tail between my legs. As if the Muse of Beauty were trying to tell me something, the next day I happened to sit down with a friend who filled me in on all the latest stem cell technology, which was as good as jumping into the Pillar of Fire and maintaining eternal youth.
I went home and pulled out my piggy bank from the back of the closet.
It was quite heavy, and it was probably contained enough to buy me a steak at the hospital's restaurant, but it was hardly going to get me anywhere near a stem cell.
So I continue to watch those crows leave their footprints on my face, and am resigned to the fact that no amount of yoga headstands will take away my sagging chin. Gravity is a cruel joker who enjoys playing nasty tricks _ on women, in particular.
I despair.
So I apologise profusely to all those women who I scoffed at before for preferring a Botox lunch break to a bowl of kuaytiew luk chin noodles. You have my sympathy, and I follow closely in your footsteps.
Let me first fill my piggy bank.
Usnisa Sukhsvasti is the Features Editor of the Bangkok Post.