My husband took me to dinner this evening. Buffet. In a gambling town you can choose between buffet and more buffet and a truck that serves the most extraordinary tacos on the planet. If the taco truck served crab legs we would have gone there, no question.
As an aside, I did not bother a local celebrity while he filled his own plate at the buffet even though I find him very attractive.
Had I bothered him, he might have noticed how freshly shaven and attractive I was myself, but I decided not to bother him on his day off. I'm telling you, I was lovely and smooth. In preparation for dinner I shaved all the signs of perimenopause off my face and neck. Signs too numerous to pluck one by one. Signs that are becoming more of a problem than they ever have been. Signs that as I age I am slowly becoming a man and I'm expecting my testicles to drop any moment now.
Anyone know anything about lazer hair removal? Because I'm seriously considering it. At the ripe old age of 36, now that I have all my kids in school, I should not have a circus freak beard lady career in my future. Can't get a 401K in that line of work. No one calls up the bearded lady to ask for professional advice.
Five o'clock shadow on a woman sucks. It just does. So do ingrown whiskers. I'm at the point in my life where acne is no longer a concern and now all these whiskers go underground to pout and fester. It's plain rude.
It'll also be plain rude if I get my mother's chin and jowels as I age. That scourge is already starting and no question about it, when my face starts to descend onto my upper chest, I'm getting some nipping and tucking done. Now, I love my Mom, I do. She decorates her family room with chickens, hoards aqua net and adores her vacuum cleaner, but my neck needs freedom from it's genetics. My mom is 5'2" or about and her jowels fit into her frame. I'm a foot taller in heels and as I go about in public I do not need strangers directing Tarzan calls at me.
In ten to twenty years if anyone wants to go with me to Brazil on a plastic surgery trip, let me know.
Justin requests that I get my boobs done too. Something for him to look forward to in his old age. A bouncy new place to set my snacks.
If we do it right we can just insert my jowels right into my chest. Meh. They'll sag.
I told my husband that this was the reason I was not getting a boob job.
He said I didn't love him. No I don't, honey. Not that much.
Friday, August 05, 2011
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