THE BLOG
03/08/2012 02:35 pm ET | Updated May 08, 2012

Ain't Nobody's Business But My Own

I spent the past two weeks chanting slogans like "Republicans, out of my vagina!" So maybe I'm feeling a tiny bit sensitive about unsolicited opinions on what I do with my body.

With this in mind, allow me to say that it's none of your goddamned business if I dye my hair, take Botox, get a facelift or augment/decrease my boob size.

Instead of probing the reasons I might want to do such things, let's discuss why so many people feel the need to express their disapproval about them.

You shouldn't use drugs or surgery to build self-esteem.

I heard this argument from a 30-year-old co-worker holding a Martini in one hand and a slab of chocolate cake in the other. "Get thee to a therapist!" she said. As I understand it, the point of therapy is to help you make peace with who you are. But what if you are someone who doesn't like walking around with chipped yellow teeth and eye pouches like Lipton tea bags? Should you be ashamed of those feelings?

It sends a negative message about aging.

No one is opposed to aging gracefully -- that would be like saying you're against world peace. But what does it really mean? By the time she was my age, my grandmother had gray hair, was 50 pounds overweight and wore housecoats with stockings rolled down below her knees. She was comfortable with who she was, and I loved her for it. I think my grandchildren will feel the same way about me.

It's frivolous/a waste of money.

The sirens of the Judgment Police are really wailing on this one. Off the top of my head, here are six things I would consider at least as frivolous as cosmetic surgery: 1. a media room, 2. a luxury car, 3. any house with more than 800 square feet per person, 4. high-end sneakers (unless you are a serious athlete), 5. makeup, and 6. an iPhone. If we took the money spent annually on any of these items in the United States alone, we could indeed make a difference in the world.

It's dangerous.

Oh, please -- so is bungee-jumping, sky diving and riding a motorcycle. Yet we don't attach a moral stigma to any of them.

It looks weird.

You've got me there; a 60-year-old woman with a 30-year-old face (or 20-year-old breasts) does look a little creepy. If I ruled the world, this kind of deviation from my personal comfort zone would not be allowed. Of course, I'm equally uncomfortable with racists, homophobes and writers who make more money than I do. When I start calling the shots, all of you will have to go.

There are many other reasons -- religious, philosophical or aesthetic -- why you may choose not to fight the aging process. But unless you can prove that my wrinkly neck is a conscious being that deserves a life of its own, don't try to dictate my choices.