But most of the book, of course, has to do with aging–and if you know Ephron’s work, you know not to expect the usual platitudes about the compensation of gaining wisdom. “For the last 15 years I’ve been reading pieces about how much happier you’re going to be when you get older and wiser,” she says, “and I just kept thinking, Are they nuts? Are they not looking in the mirror? Are they not trying to hit their forehand back over the net without their shoulder going out? I wouldn’t want to be 20 again because of Internet dating, but would I be happy to be a little bit younger? Absolutely.”
Ephron supports plastic surgery–to a point. “You should tell the doctor, ‘I just want to look rested,’ and then they won’t do that much and you still end up sort of looking like yourself.” But as her title essay explains, the wattled neck canbe fixed only in conjunctionwith a radical face-lift, and, she writes, she “would rather squint at this sorry face and neck of mine in a mir- ror than confront a stranger who looks … like a drum pad.”
“Savor your neck,” she implores. “Because I’m not kidding–it’s only a matter of seconds. Keep walking around in things that show it off, because soon you’re going to have to give them to Goodwill.” Point taken. But if you could have a spirit like Ephron’s, how bad could a wattle or two be?
