Death of the Bo-tax brings Holiday Joy

Christmas presents come in many forms and sometimes from very unexpected sources. Who, for instance, would have thought I'd be writing a thank-you note to the U.S. Senate?

But it bestowed upon my female peers and I a potentially wondrous gift by voting to ix-nay from the health bill a proposed 5 percent tax on cosmetic surgery. Granted, I don't currently have the money - and am balanced precariously on the line of need - to indulge in any such procedures. But I like knowing I have the option of someday injecting poison into my face at what will now seem like a discounted rate.

I greeted these glad tidings with great joy. My son didn't join in my Happy Dance, however.

I tried to explain to him that given the head of our household is a middle-aged single female, the tax held the potential for financial ruin. That or natural aging. Neither of which painted a pretty picture.

He merely shrugged, said "Mom, please don't dance," and, like any good liberal's son, resumed playing Super Obama World Game. Youth are shortsighted, but I'm confident the implications of this to his college fund will become clear to him with time.

The so-called Botax is replaced in the health bill with a 10 percent tax on indoor tanning. Given the millions spent on defying age will stimulate the U.S. economy, and the likelihood of tanning salon devotees to incur health care bills down the road, this seems like a better idea.

Like virtually any woman my age, I'm guilty of youthful tanning indiscretions. As a teen, I offered up my string bikini-clad, suntan-oiled body to the solar gods by sunbathing on the metal roof of the chicken coop. I strongly suspect frying like bacon decade ago has enhanced the deepening parentheses around my mouth people perversely call smile lines.

Mercifully, such activity tapered off over time, and by my 30s, I was over it. This left me looking like a grub worm, and in desperation, I turned to the bottle. Magically, my summer limbs now appear sun kissed. Sure, Coppertone should offer classes on how to keep the knees and feet from looking painfully bruised and neglectfully dirty. But until that sunny day comes, I'll endure blotchy knees and streaked feet. I'm pretty sure they're a whole lot less ugly than melanoma.

The few friends I have who still make the occasional trek to the tanning salon say it's preventative. A base tan keeps skin from burning, they say. And maybe they're right.

But I'm hedging my bets on liquid bronzers and sunscreen. Plus a few shares of stock in Allergan, maker of Botox, Restasis and Juvederm. It's an investment in my financial future - not to mention my face's.