I walk the line.

I've seen the San Andreas Fault. No, not in California. On my face.

I woke up one morning last week to a very prominent line that divides my left brain from my right. Like a meridian of painful truths, it's the Mason-Dixon Line separating me from my life before and my life since the advent of wrinkles.

It's a doozy, though. Do I frown too much? Do I need a new eyeglasses prescription to prevent squinting? Did someone stab me between the eyebrows, drag down and never let go? I mean, it just can't be natural for a barely 33-year-old woman to be sporting a crevice on her forehead that looks more like the Grand Canyon.

I spent 30 minutes this morning pain-stakingly reviewing the over-the-counter miracles-in-a-bottle available to me at the Red Dot Boutique (Target, people, Target). Is it honestly time for me to renew? To rejuvenate? Don't I already look positively radiant? And what's going to work best for me - oil-free, non-comedogenic? Retinol? Saliclyic acid? I'm overwhelmed. 

I don't subscribe to enough beauty/fashion magazines to understand what really is going to work best for me. And I'm confused because I may be developing craters all over my face, but that hasn't stopped the frequent onslaught of acne that continues to march from cheekbone to cheekbone, peppering my nose with zits aplenty along the way. Am I 33 or 13? Is this puberty or pre-menopause?

I've been to tons of dermatologists. I've had my pimples popped; I've slapped on more prescribed schlack than Stridex sells cleansing pads. I used Witch Hazel until Dr. X made me swear to never buy that stuff again. I feel like I am out of options.

So I called Sister S. She's got her pulse on what it takes to be pretty. Much more so than our mom, who was probably chain smoking while talking to her friends on the telephone the day mothers are supposed to teacher their daughters how to apply make-up and what to do for perfectly clear skin.

"How much does Botox cost?" I demanded of Sister S.

She did some checking. $468 for the forehead. Yeah, well, that's about as much as the Burberry bag I want. It's slightly less than my new washing machine. It's a third of what it will likely cost to get my butt on a beach in Cozumel next May.

So the San Andreas Fault is staying, unless my whole face decides to fall off. I'm going to do my best to cover up with this sheer / glimmery / SPF 5,000 / ivory to fair / stick of sh*t I bought this morning. 

If that doesn't work, it's just a big "laugh" line. So what, I laugh a lot. I do! I'm laughing right now.