The full monty

The rest of the evening, while my husband and John talked puts and calls in the forex market, Nicole described in detail every cosmetic intervention she has had in the last eight years. Dr. Delos’ artistry had been such a success, it seems, that she had gone on for breast reduction surgery, a tummy tuck, blepharoplasty on her eyelids, further work on her forehead, liposuction on her hips, and within the next year or so, bien sûr, she would be doing another full facelift.

Marseille wasn’t the most exciting place in the world for Nicole, so she had opted to do most of these successive operations in Paris. The shopping is better, there is more nightlife, restaurants are top-notch, and Paris is unquestionably one of the most beautiful cities in the world. "But I think I will go back to Dr. Delos for my next face leaf-t," Nicole concluded. "Perhaps John comes also to do surgery for the bags under his eyes."

Was this an omen?

August ghost town

In addition, I could tell that the doctor was a little thrown by my tumor-ridden family history so maybe she was being unusually aggressive. My mom had fought off breast cancer successfully but her mother had not, my older sister had died of thyroid cancer, and two aunts had also died of cancer. Nando’s diabetes has nothing genetically to do with me but it loomed in the background as well.

The upshot: I went to the hospital to schedule my tests last week, and that was easier than expected. It’s the height of summer, so few people were around. In Northern Italy, people exit by the millions in July and August. It is normal to have four weeks of vacation and by god everyone wants to take it at the same time, so they can be just as crowded at the beach in summer as they are in the city in winter. Shops close in August and bustling cities take on the appearance of ghost towns. I went to the hospital at 1:30 pm, just before they opened for the afternoon. Consequently I didn’t have to wait long in the appointment line, and there weren’t many people to make appointments anyway.

White faces, round butts

Because of their great builds and -- I don’t know -- because of pride in their femininity, Italians move well in clothes. An Italian woman’s walk is distinctly different from American or Northern European women, who have an athletic stride. Italians undulate with their hips, showing off well-cut feminine fashion to best advantage. Psychologists can argue that this marked sensuality is an indication of a certain insecurity: unsure of their own position in the world, they crave the approval of men and move in ways that will elicit that approval. I don’t know about that; to me, their flowing gait is far more attractive than my own choppy pace, and they look so damn GOOD when they move. They have always looked good.

To put things in historical perspective, Italians have been setting international beauty standards for centuries, just as they dominate the worlds of art, fashion and design today. The term "Renaissance beauty" was invented here, applying to Florentine women with white-powdered faces (which probably alleviated the need for facelifts, had they been available back then), red lips and cheeks, round breasts and buttocks, and long hair parted down the middle and ornately-coiffed.