Ummm. You guys are going to need more than those needle guns for this job.

Ummm. You guys are going to need more than those needle guns for this job.

Before you go all I-knew-her-grow-old-gracefully-act-was-shizzle-on-a-schtick with me, the plastic surgeon is NOT for me.

I am growing old gracefully. Not quietly or comfortably…but it’s easier for me to pull off the graceful thing because I’m alone so much of the day.

No one witnesses me plucking the man-hairs from my chin.

I'm not one of those lucky women who can pull the chin-hair look off.

I’m not one of those lucky women who can pull off the chin-hair look.

No one smells the silent farts I practice for when I’m actually around other humans and my bowels feel like a newly-released Polident tablet in water.

I could go on, but I forgot what point I was trying to make.

Anyway, this plastic surgeon thingΒ is a total emergency.

And, trust me, a plastic surgeon is the only specialist qualified to deal with this atrocity.

I know.

You think I’m being overly melodramatic.

Well, see for yourself.

 

I took this picture in my neighborhood. You know, the one where all the screaming, running, jumping children play...

I took this picture in my neighborhood. You know, the one where all the screaming, running, jumping children play…

If ever there was a case when a plastic surgeon was needed, this is it…

Well, maybe this one, too…

So, maybe he had a rough night and woke up too early to a startling noise...still, the guy could use some cosmetic "adjustments," don't you think?

So, maybe he had a rough night and woke up too early to a startling noise…still, the guy could use some cosmetic “adjustments,” don’t you think?