I hate you. I love you. Why do you torture me?
I flirted with you only once, and it’s been over a year since our little hook up. It’s true, I can’t stop thinking about you. I swore I would never cheat on Aging Gracefully, but there you were with your sexy, shiny needle and your empty promises of youth and beauty.
I have a few questions for you. I know they say beauty is pain, but why do you have to hurt so darn much? (I mean, seriously, I felt like poison was being injected painfully into my face!) Can’t you woo a girl with a few stiff drinks first or something? Also, you need to let people know about your little reaction to 800mg of Motrin that they might take in preparation for the pain. How was I to know my entire face would bruise like I just lost to the Russian Ivan Drago in some kind of cosmetic Rocky IV? I had people staring at me for weeks thinking I was beat up by my other lover, Restalyne (or a piece of printing equipment).
One more question too, you pricey witch. What’s up with how much you COST? Do you have any idea how many weeks of grocery shopping money we have to skim to pay you? Someone needs to come out with a generic version of your uptown ho-riffic self.
I want you back, but I’m afraid. I don’t know if I can take the pain. I can’t afford you! I may have to settle for slumming with some trashy chemical peel off the street. Also, you wear off so quickly, leaving me looking tired and worried again. Darn you!
Please come back. No, GO!
P.S. I've started seeing a sexy Dermabrasion on the side, and he never hurts me like you do. Take THAT, you needle-happy FREAK!