The Sleepless in Seattle Star, who made her on-screen debut in Rich and Famous (1981), displayed an incredibly smooth complexion, once again fueling rumors that she may have dabbled in plastic surgery, despite her previous denials.
Indeed, some shared less than flattering opinions over Meg’s new look online, reigniting a debate that the actress herself has weighed in on in the past.
“This is Meg Ryan,” one Twitter user commented. “Hopefully women will learn from this. Plastic Surgery is for Frankenstein.
“Meg Ryan spent thousands to make herself unrecognizable and hideous,” another added.
Another person wrote of the pictures, “what did she do to herself? These hollywood elites overdo the plastic surgery. Get a refund”
“Wtf has Meg Ryan done to her face?!” a third wrote.
n the past Ryan has insisted that she pays little attention to those offering negative opinions as to her appearance.
In a 2015 interview with Porter Magazine, she openly addressed the rumors regarding plastic surgery.
“I don’t pay a lot of attention, frankly,” she said at the time. “There’s a lot of hatred in the world today. It’s so easy to judge. Imagine being a hater, how stupid.”
Turning out for the aforementioned screening, held at the Alice Tully Hall in the Lincoln Center, New York, the actress seemed to be in good spirits as she posed for pictures with the likes of Billy Murray and Elvis Costello on Michael J. Fox’s big night.
Fox, who recently conceded that he didn’t think he would live to see 80 years old, is releasing a new documentary focusing on his life during the three decades since his diagnosis.
The Back to the Future star was first told he had Parkinson’s disease aged just 29. Despite initially endeavoring to hide his condition, he’s since become a leading figure in the fight for heightened awareness and research.
In a tear-jerking recent interview, Fox candidly reflected on his own mortality, saying that his ongoing battle with Parkinson’s was “getting tougher”
“I’m not gonna lie. It’s gettin’ hard, it’s gettin’ harder. It’s gettin’ tougher,” the retired actor said. “Every day it’s tougher. But, but, that’s, that’s the way it is. I mean, you know, who do I see about that?”
He added that he recently had spinal surgery after a tumor was found on his spine. While it was benign, it affected his ability to walk, and he was injured after a fall.
“[I] broke this arm, and I broke this arm, I broke this elbow. I broke my face. I broke my hand,” Fox said.
“You don’t die from Parkinson’s. You die with Parkinson’s. I’ve been thinking about the mortality of it. … I’m not gonna be 80. I’m not gonna be 80.”
MY HUSBAND LEFT ME WITH KIDS AND ALL THIS HEAVY LUGGAGE TO GET HOME ON MY OWN WHILE HE HUNG OUT WITH FRIENDS – THE LESSON I TAUGHT HIM WAS HARSH.
The roar of the airplane engines faded into the background as I stepped off the plane, two tired toddlers clinging to my legs. I scanned the crowd, expecting to see Tom, my husband, his familiar smile a welcome sight after a long flight. But he wasn’t there.
I called him, my heart sinking with each unanswered ring. Finally, he picked up, his voice casual, almost breezy. “Hey, honey! How was the flight?”
“Where are you?” I asked, my voice tight. “You were supposed to pick us up.”
“Oh, right!” he said, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. “Mike called. He’s in town, and we decided to grab a drink. Just for a few hours. You can manage, right?”
“Manage?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Tom, I have two toddlers, a stroller, and three heavy suitcases. I can’t ‘just manage’!”
“Come on, it’s just for a few hours. You can manage,” he replied again, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his voice.
I hung up, my anger a burning ember in my chest. He had abandoned me, his family, for a few hours of drinks with a friend. I felt a surge of resentment, a feeling that had been simmering for years, now boiling over.
The next few hours were a blur of chaos. I struggled to wrangle the kids, their tired whines echoing through the airport. I wrestled the stroller, a monstrous contraption designed to fold with the dexterity of a Rubik’s Cube, and lugged the suitcases, each one a testament to the sheer volume of “essential” items toddlers require.
By the time I finally made it home, I was exhausted, my body aching, my patience frayed. But as I collapsed onto the couch, a plan began to form in my mind. Tom had underestimated me. He had assumed I would simply accept his dismissive attitude, his blatant disregard for my time and effort. He was wrong.
The next day, I woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. I packed a small bag, kissed the kids goodbye, and left a note on the kitchen table.
“Gone to visit a friend. Will be back when I feel like it. You can manage, right?”
I drove to a nearby spa, a place I had always wanted to visit but never had the time or money for. I spent the day indulging in massages, facials, and manicures, reveling in the quiet solitude.
I turned off my phone, ignoring the barrage of calls and texts from Tom. I wanted him to experience what I had experienced: the feeling of being abandoned, of being taken for granted.
The next day, I went shopping, buying myself a new outfit, a pair of designer shoes, and a luxurious handbag. I spent the evening at a fancy restaurant, savoring a delicious meal and a glass of wine.
I returned home late that night, to find Tom pacing the living room, his face etched with worry. The kids were asleep, the house a mess.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice laced with anxiety.
“Out,” I replied, my voice cool.
“Out? All day? All night?”
“Yes,” I said, “I needed some time to myself.”
“But… but the kids,” he stammered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You managed,” I said, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with confusion and a dawning realization. “You… you did this on purpose.”
“Yes, Tom,” I said, “I did. I wanted you to understand what it feels like to be left alone, to be taken for granted.”
He looked down at his feet, shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think…”
“That’s the problem, Tom,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “You didn’t think. You assumed I would always be there, always manage, no matter what.”
He nodded, his eyes filled with remorse. “I understand,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”
I looked at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. I saw genuine regret, a flicker of understanding.
“Good,” I said. “Because I won’t tolerate it again.”
From that day on, Tom was a changed man. He became more attentive, more considerate, more appreciative of my time and effort. He learned that partnership meant sharing the load, not dumping it all on one person.
And I learned that sometimes, a little bit of payback can go a long way in teaching a valuable lesson.
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