Barring some form of sudden disfigurement, I don’t ever want to get plastic surgery on my face.

I saw some surgery show once when I was little.  A woman was getting her jowls tightened and they peeled her whole face off.

I couldn’t eat Spaghetti O’s for months after that.

No matter how many wrinkles or sags I had, in no way would it be worth having my face pulled down like bib overalls.

So, I will probably never be that person, with the over arched eyebrows, or the fat upper lip, fat implanted into my cheeks.

I will just age as I age, right?

I don’t wear make up.  I don’t smoke.  I don’t go out into the sun.

I’ll be like Demi Moore.  Or that girl from the TLC show The Eternal baby, she was 17 and still in diapers.  I’ll probably have her skin, and it will be fine.

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE.

And then, I had these kids, and I wake up, and I look like Phyllis Diller, if she was like, in a bar fight and left for dead on the side of the road, and small woodland creatures started gnawing away at her.

And I think, what the hell just happened.  I was young looking, like, five seconds ago?

Why is my stomach skin touching near my vagina skin?

Why are there giant lines under my eyes?

And, why am I tucking under my arm skin before I get my picture taken at the DMV?

How does this happen?  I feel like I was paying attention, and everything was fine, and then I look away for a second, and the gravitational force holding my body up peaced out, and I am left hear holding four hundred pounds of silly putty.

I don’t want surgery.

On my face.

I mean, my boobs or my stomach, fine, that’s a war I can’t win.

But, the face just never ends well.

So, I am looking into alternate solutions.

Namely, I look at Urban outfitters.com, see what the kids are wearing, and then I try to find something similar to it online that comes in a size higher than four, you know, in case I don’t have to burp that day.

I also have been doing a lot of my shopping out of the Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift section of Walmart.  If I wear shirts with silk screened dominatrix corsets, or have clever quotes about how boys are silly on them, I am clearly more youthful.

And then, the other day I was searching for mail order wine, and I read that putting Preparation H under your eyes removes the bags, and I remember hearing that before, so it clearly must be true.

Except I bought the generic Walmart version, because $6 for butt ointment to put on your eyes seems ridiculous.

Sidenote:  I wasn’t aware that the ointment actually went inside your butt, because the top of the tube kinda looks like a long sprinkler system.  I am also never going to borrow anyone else’s Preparation H.

So, I put it under my eyes, and on my stomach, and on my thighs, and behind my arms.

Because all those things needed to be shrunk and tightened.

And, not only did none of those things shrink, it tuns out, if you coat yourself in a silicone based ointment, you are basically lubricated for an entire day, and I couldn’t even drive because my seats are leather, and I kept slipping and then lunging toward the gas petal.

So, I looked like this lumpy grown woman, in a Miley Cyrus shirt and a fedora, covered in Vaseline.

And, there is absolutely nothing youthful about that.

 

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