I’ve been in a bad mood for at least a month. Growly, whiny. A real Oscar the Grouch, minus the slime green fur and trash can abode. Of course, it’s all my own fault – I accepted too many work projects – but knowing that hasn’t been enough to get me to pipe down with the griping already.

Today, however, I’m feeling chipper. Why? Because I finally went to see the insanely renowned beauty guru Fred Brandt. Although I’ve known him for almost 20 years via the editor circuit, I’ve never plopped myself down in one of his sleek black swivel chairs and asked him how he would go about the business of changing my life.

Because he does indeed change lives. Or at least enhance the living hell out of ‘em. Take Madonna, for instance. While Dr. B never – and I mean never – talks about her, he’s the main reason she looks approximately half her age. Well, from the neck up; we gots to give ol’ Madge props for keeping her 50-something bod banging. She bangs.

The purpose of my visit today was not to actually have him poke me with a needle, but to get a gameplan for the near future. The very near future, as in mid-July, when all my assignments wrap and I’m officially kicking up my heels for the summer.

So after dispensing with the polite chit-chat, he scrutinized my makeup-less face and made his friendly-but-brutal assessment:

“Your fat pads are slipping,” he said, tapping my cheekbone and gesturing south. “That happens as we get older. Your forehead isn’t bad. You could use some Retin-A. Have you tried any type of Retin-A yet?”

No, but frankly, I’d been dying to. I love my drugstore retinol products, but at a certain point, a gal needs to stop effing around and go for the industrial-strength concoctions. So, happily, he sent me on my merry way with an Rx for Refissa, a new riff on Retin-A that’s very moisturizing. So much so that I probably won’t need to layer a night cream on top.

The Refissa should definitely help with sun damage, particularly a few stubborn brown spots on my cheek. And when I go back to see Dr. B in about eight weeks, I intend to take the plunge with Botox and a some type of filler. (He’s keen on Restylane and other types of hyaluronic acid-based fillers, but we’ll see.)

I know, I know; I’m morphing into High-Maintenance Mommy. Or Crazy-Vain Mommy. Take your pick. All I know is that I’m excited.

“I can take 15 years off your face,” said Dr. B. “You’re gonna look great.”

Music to my high-maintenance ears.