Plastic surgeons are renowned for making mountains out of molehills. I bet their front doors have big knockers.
Although I have no plans (aka throw down cash) in my immediate future, I’d never say never to having a little work done. My body is my temple, but even the Taj Mahal had a facelift. I would prefer to age gracefully, however, I’m no Audrey Hepburn. The following is a tongue-in-cheek wish list of top to bottom home improvements.
I’d love to excavate my moles, rolls, and holes. Might as well take the liver spots too. I’m not a goddamn Dalmatian. The trouble is, there’d barely be any leftover skin. You’d have to stretch the canvas pretty tight to fill in all the voids. Not to make a mountain out of a molehill, but I miss the peaches and cream complexion of my youth.
I used to raise eyebrows, literally and figuratively. Now the weight of my hooded lids won’t allow it. My dream is to get the fat pads sucked right out of those flabby fuckers. It’s lowbrow to tweeze stray hairs that have slid down to the crease of my eyelid.
When it comes to plastic surgery, some people turn up their nose. My rhinoplasty would cover up the red capillaries, which are a telltale sign of a drinker. I would not be opposed to replacing this W. C. Fields schnozz.
The first time I heard of a wattle was on Ally McBeal. Ally’s colleague had a fetish for the fleshy folds of skin that hang from your neck. Although I appreciated his enthusiasm, wattles just aren’t sexy. Turkey necks and jowls are for the birds.
At this age, we’re not looking for a boob job, but how about a lift up? It’s not a simple procedure to turn lemons into melons. My friend’s augmentation went tits up. I’d still like to book a consult and get a couple of pointers. All I really want is to have my nipples facing the right direction.
Liposuction and tummy tucks are painful. If I wanted to be black and blue, I’d date Chris Brown. But after birthing an 11 lb.-10 oz. baby, my skin stretched like a Shar-Pei puppy. I regularly pick up my belly and fold it into my pants.
Vaginal rejuvenation is not on my bucket list. Without a nip/tuck, it’s hard to keep the pink petals taut like the bud of an unopened flower. After children, my lady garden looks more like a wilted tulip.
Working our way down, the Sangria Sisters (aka the Pilgrim girls), are cursed with flat derrières. It often makes us the butt of jokes.
Going au naturel would mean getting off my ass and making lifestyle changes. I’d have to workout to become toned and fit. I’d have to alter my diet of several small meals every hour with snacks in between. But most of all, I’d have to cut back on my wine intake, and that’s not cool. Wouldn’t it just be easier to take a pill, or a dip in the fountain of youth?
With my increasing testosterone levels and hormone fluctuations, it’s quite possible I’ll be shopping for a dick enhancement…
Tunes you should have on your iPod:
TLC ✤ Unpretty
Weird Al Yankovic✦ Like A Surgeon
The Ramones ✺ I Wanna Be Sedated
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