And should come with a warning label: “Bad for your mental health and/or self-esteem.”
I was up late the other night–couldn’t sleep, reading fanfic–and had the telly on for some background noise. Next thing I know, I’m watching a paid programming show (read: 30 minute commercial) trying to sell a minimally invasive facelift technique. Included were the testimonials from satisfied customers, those with radical changes to their appearances (and I mean radical), who couldn’t say enough wonderful things about the process. They showed pictures of women not so very much older than me having “chicken necks” essentially wiped away in favor of beautiful throats.
I’m looking at myself in the mirror at three in the morning, and I’m thinking, “my God, I need that done.” And then I notice the chubbiness of my cheeks, and how it looks like I’ll have jowls in my older age (probably because of a jaw surgery at seventeen, as it can’t have helped tissue adhesion to bone). I started picking out all the things that won’t be pretty, and wondering how much this surgery would cost.
In the light of day, I stop and think that I might can help myself–get in shape, lose the weight of this nearly-another-person I’m carrying in all the wrong places, and it might improve the situation. Meanwhile, I’m not watching television in the wee hours, not anymore.