Extreme makeover
When you are in New York, you go to the Empire State Building. When you are in San Francisco, you go to the wharf. In DC, you at least drive by the White House. No stay in Los Angeles is complete without a visit to a plastic surgeon.
I can now check that off my list.
I’ve never been one of those bad-self-image girls. My boobs dragged the ground in ninth grade. Push-up bras solved that problem. Jiggle thighs can be counter balanced with Spanx. I’ve never been stick thin, but I have been fine with my body. I’ll never forget when my sophomore year college gym teacher pulled me aside in weight training class and told me I had a great body, but I was obviously German and would never be a size two. I smiled and thanked him.
Through out time, the only thing I’ve ever wanted was even eyebrows. Until now. I’ve lost a ton of weight and my empty jelly rolls are getting in the way. During sex, I can feel my stomach sway side-to-side like an obese cat running with a waddle. When I button my jeans, I feel like I have to tuck myself in.
So today I had a consult with a plastic surgeon in….. Beverly Hills. He ended up being tremendously hot. When he walked in his first words were, “Wow, look at that hair, you don’t see that out here.”
I assume he was talking about the color because I see that freshly-shot-of-of-a-canon look all the time on the street. My curls are not that impressive. The flirting continued with the alcohol consumption question.
“Oh, I don’t know, I drink four to six beers a month,” I stated.
“Beer? You drink beer? That’s rare for a woman to drink beer in this town. More points,” he said.
He left the room and I put my blue paper robe on, opening to the front. I was thankful I remembered to made sure my bra and panties matched. He came back and told me to show him what bothered me. I flashed him my jelly roll and he said, “yeah, you are ready for surgery. A couple more pounds won’t matter.”
He then gave me a fake “after” effect and pulled up on my love handles until the skin in my legs and gut were taunt. It was weird and made me feel like I should be dangling on a meat hook in Fast Food Nation. But it was a nice way to see all my glory changed.
I selected December 7th as my surgery day. The Japs may of bombed us in ’41, but in ’07 my fat is getting attacked.
Tomorrow I’ll get my eyebrows waxed.