Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: What Gets Onto These People?

At three years old she was playing in her mother's make-up. They gave her her own lipstick for her fourth birthday. She got a make up case and everything to go with it at six. She was tweezing her own eyebrows by 7 (mostly for show), and wearing nail polish and lip gloss to school every day by 8. At 11 she was depressed to need glasses, but thrilled to exchange them for contacts at 12 - she'd always wanted blue eyes. That same year she was devastated to need braces, becoming so depressed that her mom helped her dye her hair (blonde). She was dyeing it herself by 13. By 16 she went from shaving to waxing, and this newfound attention to her skin sent her on the pursuit of the perfect tan. By the end of high school she hit the tanning salon every week. It took a lot of cajoling, but she got breast implants as a graduation present (b-cups had been the bane of her existence). She picked up a few new tricks in college: hair extensions, crash dieting, and eventually, liposuction. When she was finally out on her own she got a collagen injection to give her the lips she'd always wanted, and perhaps to make her bastard ex- jealous. It didn't work, and she got depressed again. She got a nose job to make her feel like a new woman. It didn't work, and a few months of ice cream later she needed a tummy tuck along with the usual treatment. By that point artificial tans had damaged her skin so badly that she had to visit the spa twice a week, and abuse a host of oils and creams. After her car accident her knee was so badly damaged that the doctors built her a new one, out of titanium. Rehab went well, but her back problems worsened, and rather than have her artificial bust reduced, she went through therapy after therapy, and wound up with pins in her spine. Then in her ankles. Time got away from her in a haze of eyeliner and facelifts. It seemed no sooner had she bleached her teeth then she needed to replace a chipped one, and a short while later she needed dentures. And a prosthetic breast to replace the one cancer took. Every day of her last ten years she wore so much foundation and so many supportive undergarments that it took her three hours to get from bed to breakfast. Afterwards, the mortician was so lost that they had no other choice than a closed casket.

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