Frankenbitch

"Just don't look at it".
"Okay, but I already saw it. It's burned into my retinas."
"ha ha ha. No, but seriously... your rash looks worse. Just breathe and relax."
"I'm trying to relax. I'm in a doctors office waiting for the doc to come in and take a needle full of toxin and inject it into my face. Pretty sure this is as relaxed as you're going to get out of me."

Then the doc walks in and gives me the speal about possible side effects, good and bad. I know all of this stuff. I've done all my research. I could've probably schooled on him on some stuff. Instead of listening, I’m tuning him out, trying to find my happy place. My happy place is very far away. Instead my glazed over face is hiding an intense disgust for myself. Why am I here? I'm a Chandler housewife, not a Scottsdale Frankenbitch.

It's a slippery slope, vanity. First you're getting a chemical peel, next thing you know, and you’re a card-carrying member of your plastic surgeons "beauty club". Oh my dear God. I have hit terminal velocity. No turning back. I am the superficial monster I have always made fun of. Mother Nature is watching, and she is PISSED. I have made a mockery of her privileged aging process. She is now going to strike me with cancer or AIDS or Spontaneous Human Combustion. I am going to die because of my vanity. Vanity is one of the 7 DEADLY sins for a reason.. I am beyond disa......

"I'm done. Wasn't so bad was it?"
"Ummmm. NO! That was... painless! Wow!"
"The results won't be evident for about a week, and will probably last 10-12 weeks."

"Awesome!! See you in March!!"


Don't judge me. Unless you think I look good...then resume judgment. The good kind.  :)