THANK goodness it was drilled into me to greet people with the words, “How do you do?” Because these days, the question that springs more frequently to mind is, “Who are you?” Not because my memory is going, but because many of my acquaintances are erasing the traces of identity, if not life, from their faces.
Now, before anyone starts turning defensive, let me turn defensive. This is not an essay about why I am categorically against cosmetic surgeries. I am as supportive as the next gal if a certain someone feels so bad about her neck that she won’t leave home, or if another is so heavy-lidded that every time he blinks he misses half the picture. Plastic surgeons have done wondrous things.
