TAKE A LID OFF IT

 

Someday I'll explain what this means.

As I gradually return to background acting work following a year-long hiatus, the time has come to take stock of where I stand. Or, more accurately, where I sag. The chin started turning to a pouch over 30 years ago, so that’s already part of my established look. My belly isn’t quite as taut as it used to be, although you’d have to see me in my underwear to make sure. And believe me, that’s not something you want to do.

 Unfortunately, the body parts that show the most wear and tear are where everybody can see them: the upper eyelids. Stuck atop my baby blues like garage doors in need of a good oiling, my eyelids at best give me the look of a wise elder about to impart great wisdom – but only when I smile. The rest of the time, the resemblance is that of a guy who’s about to get released from prison after a 15-year manslaughter rap.

This is no exaggeration. When I turn to my wife with what I believe is a neutral gaze, she’ll often ask, “Why are you giving me a hateful look?” She’s also informed me that I have a “hostile sneeze”, so maybe she’s just one of those super-sensitive types.

 So, between the background work and my wife fearing for her life, I’ve been considering the possibility of an eyelid lift. Now, normally I’ve been averse to surgery that has nothing to do with my health being at stake. I’ve seen too many lid lifts on celebrities who wind up with a perpetually surprised look of someone who’s been caught in a compromising position by their spouse (not that I would know from personal experience, mind you).

 On the other hand, as an adolescent I wore braces and had warts removed from my hand. A few years later, two wisdom teeth were yanked out. Not long afterwards, my upper gumline was temporarily pulled back in order to have the bone underneath shaved down to something other than simian size. Since then, my face and scalp have been sliced and diced and sewn and stapled by dermatologists and skin surgeons.

 Had I not undergone these procedures, the only job I would have been suited for was scaring people into paying their bookies when required. Ergo, these weren’t cosmetic changes as much as they were humane.

How I look, and how my wife sees me.

Up to now, the closest I ever came to getting traditional cosmetic surgery was getting a dose of Botox to fill the vertical chasm between my eyebrows. That is, my wife ordered me to get it because “it makes you look angry”. (Remember what I said about her being super-sensitive?) When I asked my dermatologist her opinion, she said it could be done, but warned it came with possible side effects… like blindness.

 Sounds like a deal-breaker, right? Yet upon informing my wife that I could go from nearsighted to no-sighted, she replied, “Wait, let’s think about this.” I don’t recall what her point of view was at the time, unless it was an angry-looking husband.

 On the other hand, the chance of blindness after lid lifts is extremely rare. Something that gave me pause, though, was learning the lids would start sagging again in five to seven years. This might seem totally expected. But what if, say, a gastrointestinal surgeon casually informed you before gall bladder surgery, “Just a heads up, you’ll have to go through this routine in five years”? Suddenly what sounded normal is now as good a reason as any to jump off the gurney.

"Normally, it would cost $5,000. But for you,
I'm giving the $3,500 special!"

 Something else worthy of consideration is, while eyelids are pretty small, the cost for
the lift can be pretty big, ranging from $2,000 to $12,000, which is a rather wide range. To make another unnecessary comparison, this is like the highway speed limit being anywhere from 25 to 150 MPH depending on what the traffic cop lurking behind the trees decides.

 And don’t expect your insurance to pick up the tab just because you need a makeover before your trip to Naples. Your vision needs to be blocked by at least 30% for that kind of coverage. As of now, my wife estimates that I’m at roughly 20%. Sure, I could close my eyes an extra 10% during the consultation, but the surgeon is likely to see through that ruse (no pun intended).

 Could I afford to pay for the surgery out of pocket? Technically, yes. But that kind of money has been reserved for an emergency, like buying an 82-inch 8K television with the four-year protection plan. But what good would such a device do me if I can’t even see?

 It appears then that any cosmetic surgery outside of a mani-pedi is out of the question. Until my eyelids drop to half-staff, I will continue to be either a wise elder or hateful husband depending on the circumstances. On the plus side, such a look might elevate me from background to character actor. On the minus – it won’t do anything to change my wife’s point of view.

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