Bubbles and Botox

The next day we joined our friends in Houts Bay. Overlooking an azure ocean and the ridge of a sandy canyon,the view was glorious in its panoramic grandeur. When the sun climbed over the Bay,I was beyond curious to see this nouvelle brunch scenario. I spied the guest list,neatly typed with individual mobile numbers and precise timings for each invitee. People trickled in with a bottle of bubbly each. The bar was a cheery affair with much activity. Over platters of nibbles that included delicious fresh vegetables surrounding bowls of hummus,guacamole and cream cheese,it seemed like a regular party.

But laid out near a chaise in the master bedroom were needles,bottles of botox,cleansing spirit and plastic gloves. Caro,the doctor,seemed to know everyone. She spends half the year in the United Kingdom and indulges in the warm sunshine of South Africa to escape the European winter.

How often do you do this?I asked her. Once a month,she replied. The effects last for about six to eight months; so we know who to invite each month. It kind of rotates. There are not many people in Cape Town without frowns I assure you, she giggled.

I believed her especially when I glanced at the guests at the bar. Some were not more than 25 years old.

There are some rules with botox. You see those two young girls that arrived early? They wanted to do their jabs and then go play tennis. I sent them off to play tennis and return for their session. The intense tennis movements may affect the botox in their brows. They should be back by noon, said Caro. By that time,I got to see my first ever botox jabs in action. The needles were as fine as those used for insulin.

Settled in with a glass of bubbles still in hand,doctor and patient gossiped about the Cape Town community. It sounded very similar to Mumbais Page Three chatter. The camaraderie continued between instructions from therubber-gloved doctor as she directed frown please. Grabbing the upper left frown crease,in went the needle. Not a whimper. The skin rose in a series of mosquito bites. Two over each eye,two above the central crease and one in the centre of the brow. Chatter and champagne flowed. If the procedure was conducted at the now boisterous bar,it would have made little difference. The bedroom seemed like an extension of the party.

Next,the creases on the sides of the eyes. I squirmed as the needles went into the first of three creases. Squeamish about needles that went close to the eyes,I resolved that botox will never be a part of my life. The skin rose with each jab. At the end of the botoxed creases,the patient looked like she had been near a mosquito-infested swamp in Mumbai. How long does this last..these bumps?, I asked.

Oh,just ten minutes,the lady shot back as she went out to the salon. She tapped a handsome,tanned,muscled man on the shoulder. Your turn,darling, she purred as the obedient patient sauntered to the bedroom for his wrinkle-free session.

About six bottles of champagne and a few Bloody Marys later,fresh guests arrived. Not everyone was there for botox. Some were friendly neighbours,others curious for a consultation. A few were gatecrashers to partake of the brunch and free bubbles. One of the bitchy gatecrashers,an obvious botox case,whispered to me,I will not do my botox here. I only do it at a special clinic! Apart from that single negative comment,all went smoothly. The tennis girls returned. They vanished after their jabs and did not partake of the feast nor the conversation. They were part of the conversation though as one older lady questioned the need for botox on such young girls. To which another countered,If these procedures were available when we were 25,I might have done it too.

Two hours past noon,the doctor who till then survived on water,peeled off her gloves and settled for a glass of bubbly I never drink at work. More champagne bottles popped as the merriment continued. Did you enjoy the brunch? my hosts enquired. Well it was certainly a brunch of a different,fashionable kind, I said.