I am expecting that some day soon women will turn into chimeras — the top half human female, the bottom half cow. Or maybe, like the she-monsters of Greek mythology, a creature with a rooster head, a human torso and hooves, a Cow-Woman that crows cock-a-doodle-do.

My ruminant fears run rampant because of all the wrinkle fillers made of cow goo that women are pumping into their faces.

"Husbands have to start worrying now," New York dermatologist Patricia Wexler says mischievously. "If their wives are raving, is it menopause or is it mad cow disease?"

What if pouty young Gotham beauties, sipping raspberry mojitos at Koi, start running around in circles trying to bite their tails?

What if high-powered professional women in leather skirts and Holstein-patterned heels clickety-clack up to the pool at the Four Seasons restaurant and start slurping at it like a trough?

What if pillow-lipped actresses in New York and Hollywood drop their celery sticks and demand salt licks?

What if elegant Upper East Side socialites, sipping Bellinis at Cipriani's, suddenly start foaming at the mouth, going all John Bolton on us?

American women are putting on the cow — inside and out. They inject buckets of bovine collagen, drawn from the hides of cows, into their lips and faces. They consume huge infusions of red meat, cheese, butter and cream on the Zone and Atkins diets. They truss themselves up in leather. They decorate their homes with zebra-patterned cowhide rugs and plots of grass — perfect for grazing. They slather on antiaging creams featuring collagen. Not to mention the Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche and Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough they devour when depressed.

"Elsie did not die in vain," says Dr. Wexler. "We're using every bit of her."

Maureen Dowd, Are Men Necessary? When Sexes Collide
Copyright © 2005 by Maureen Dowd. All rights reserved.

Posted 17 January 2006

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