Plastic Surgery and Jet-Puff Marshmallows

     While browsing the clearance rack at Saks Fifth Avenue a young sales associate approaches me with an offer to attend a luncheon concerning plastic surgery that very day, in one hour.  She invites me with such urgency that I suspect the powers that be need to fill the room. "No thanks," I reply. Oblivious to any personal insult, I walk into Bloomingdale's, where I am met by a grinning-like-the-Grinch-who-stole-Christmas, employee, who hands me a card for a seminar hosted by a dermatologist specializing in aging and skin care. Riding the escalator, I study my reflection on the mirrored wall, analyzing every line and curve of my face.  Am I in need of an overhaul?  I curse the mirrored wall (thank you very much, Bloomingdale's).  Feeling deflated, I stop at the market on my way home.  Emptying my cart, overflowing with carb laden purchases; Jet-Puff marshmallows, cocoa and an assortment of other sundry items from the forbidden inner aisles, I find myself at a standstill.  It appears the customer in front of me is having an oh so inappropriately, time sucking conversation with the cashier about the terrible state of young women and their driving skills.  She turns to me, perhaps needing validation from a total stranger.  Oh Lord, now she is quoting statistics. Just as I was beginning to think I should change lanes she looks me in the eye, "You know that women, between the ages of eighteen and forty-five, oh, I hope I am not insulting you..." She went on, but I did not hear another word.  A smile returned to my face.  Patience truly is a virtue.