The bottom line

I have a serious confession to make.  When I had by forehead stitched up by the plastic surgeon, I asked for a consult on . . . . .I can't even seem to type out the word . . . . seriously, this is difficult!  Okay, (one. . . two. . . three. . . . . ) facelift.  There I said it!  Before you judge me I must tell you a couple of traumatic experiences.

In the last couple of months I have been offered the seniors discount at different establishments.  The clerks were just trying to be nice and save me a couple of dollars but PLEASE a couple of dollars are just not worth it.  Another incident, we were at Brookfields for supper and I ordered the turkey dinner and the waitress asked me if I wanted the regular or the senior dinner.  I was just speechless.  David said, "She wants the senior dinner" without thinking about the ramifications.  

If that isn't bad enough, there have been several instances where old (not just older) men have tried to pick up on me.  One guy in the airport followed me around back and forth, up and down.  It would have really worried me but he was pushing a walker.  Another time an older gentleman who hardly had the strength to open the door for me, said as I passed "Why don't you come home with me."  I'm not making it up.  Laura was with me on that one!  

Then there are those unflattering glimpses of myself in the side mirror of the car where "things are larger than they appear" (not a comforting phrase when you are looking at your own double chin).  I realized that I have been brushing on the eyebrow color higher and higher.  Soon I will have to shave off the real eyebrow and use a stencil.  I could go on but I won't.

So, yes, I did ask for a consult.  I sat there and calmly asked "What do you recommend?"  What am I a masochist?  Of course, he recommended this and that and as he went on I realized that he was talking about the whole enchilada.  He even tried to convince me that having a little fat put in my lips would be a good idea.   So, there I sit nodding my head going "yeah, okay, do you think so?"

Then he sent me into the girl who tallies it all up.  SIXTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.  Can you believe that?!?!?  Even though I was just doing this for a lark my secret hopes were dashed to pieces.  Stupid me, I should never have asked.  Now I can't even pretend that I would maybe, perhaps, some day, consider going in for a little work.  The world is a cruel place.

So, none of my loved ones have to worry too much that I will be transformed much before the resurrection. . . . unless I can get on one of those 'plastic surgery before and after' shows.  Do they pay for those procedures?  Where can I call to find out?