{"id":3947,"date":"2007-05-25T00:00:00","date_gmt":"1970-01-01T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lesliedinaberg.com\/wordpress\/?p=3947"},"modified":"2015-11-20T11:38:14","modified_gmt":"2015-11-20T19:38:14","slug":"i-feel-mad-about-my-neck","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lesliedinaberg.com\/wordpress\/?p=3947","title":{"rendered":"I Feel Mad About My Neck"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\u00a9<\/a>

\u00a9 Andresr | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images<\/p><\/div>\n

The older I get the harder it is to have heroes.<\/p>\n

I still haven’t forgiven Molly Ivins<\/a> for dying, Gwyneth Paltrow<\/a> for that ill-fitting pink, Shakespeare in Love<\/em> Oscar night dress, or Bill Clinton for that blue, slightly stained one. (By the way, a little club soda will clear that right up, or so I’ve heard.)<\/p>\n

But today I’m mad at Nora Ephron<\/a>.<\/p>\n

I used to love Nora. How could I not love a woman who still makes me laugh every time I order a sandwich in a deli, thanks to that wonderful scene in When Harry Met Sally<\/a>?<\/em> And how could I not love a woman who “fictionalized” the story of her divorce–in Heartburn<\/em><\/a> –by giving her husband a beard and making his cat into a hamster? When I divorce my first husband, I’m going to make him 4’9″ and bald, with extra toes.<\/p>\n

Talk about a perfect hero for me. She writes that most of her mistakes turned out to be things she “survived, or turned into funny stories, or, on occasion, even made money from.”<\/p>\n

But now I’m really mad at Nora. Thanks to her recent book of essays, I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman<\/em><\/a>, I too feel bad about my neck, and that makes me really, really mad.<\/p>\n

It’s hard enough to go through life with a disproportionately large behind, gigantic feet, and unpolished fingernails. Now I have to worry about my friggin’ neck?<\/p>\n

There are days when the only solace I can find when I look in the mirror is at neck level. While my hair is still thick and thankfully low maintenance, the grays in my tresses are beyond the plucking stage and I know I’ll give in and start coloring them soon. My son is voting for green.<\/p>\n

The laugh lines around my mouth are looking more and more like crow’s feet, and when I remember to put on lipstick, it invariably ends up decorating my teeth a lovely shade of coral. The same teeth that I now have to remember to use two different kinds of toothpaste for every day: Sensodyne in the morning, for my aging gums, and a teeny tiny prescription tube of $29 super-fluoride toothpaste at night, that will supposedly help prevent me from needing another $7,000 worth of dental work this year.<\/p>\n

And my eyes, oh my eyes. My vision is getting so bad that I gave myself 47 new wrinkles last night, from squinting down at my 4’6″ husband and asking, “You want me to do what?”<\/p>\n

But until I read this book, I was okay with my neck. It has kept my head in the right place for a long time.<\/p>\n

Sure, it wasn’t dripping with the diamonds I once fantasized about. And okay, it’s not usually holding up a tiara. And it’s never worn an Olympic gold medal, or even a bronze. But I was okay with my neck until I read this book. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really give it much thought. If anything, I thought maybe the sagging boobs made it look longer, more elegant.<\/p>\n

Now, I can’t stop thinking about my neck and I can’t stop looking at everybody else’s. I’ve become obsessed with looking at the necks of the other women at school, at Little League, at the grocery store, and at the gym.<\/p>\n

The other day I was watching Grey’s Anatomy<\/em><\/a> on TV, and I had to pause it so I could go put my nose right up next to the TV where I could see and stare at Kate Walsh’s neck. She’s supposed to be 40 on the show but I counted the rings around her neck and I don’t think she’s quite that old in real life.<\/p>\n

Or maybe she is that old, and 40 just looks a lot younger than it used to, even on TV. It’s not that I never thought about these things before I read the book, but I never thought about aging in terms of necks. I never even noticed before how many women in their 50s and 60s wear turtlenecks on sunny days, or mandarin collars when they have to dress up. Cowards.<\/p>\n

But now I notice. Everywhere I look there are necks, and thanks to Nora, I have this irresistible compulsion to rubberneck and check them out. I can’t stop myself.<\/p>\n

What a pain in the … you know what.<\/p>\n

Originally appeared in the\u00a0Santa Barbara Daily Sound<\/a>\u00a0on May 25, 2007<\/h6>\n

Share this:<\/h3>