I had Botox done yesterday, I know, I know, vain, but I’m beginning to look like the before and after meth ads; and my ‘dishevelled looks’ are not due to a drug addiction.
That’s not me, but I look worse than that. Being a sleep deprived single mum with two kids has definitely taken it’s toll.
At the appointment I immediately recognised that ‘Mrs Doctor Botox’ was a peculiar lady but I was willing to ignore this character trait because I had heard ‘she was good’.
On finding out I was a single mum with two small children she cocked her head to one side and said,
‘How do you cope?’
I gave my standard answer, ‘I just do’. Giving the impression of being a strong, independent woman.
In truth, however, what I really wanted to say to her was; ‘What the f*ck do you think I do? Put my kids in a cardboard box with a sandwich when I want my own space? Of course I’m not coping. Please just shut the f*ck up, do your job, please inject the shit out of my forehead so at least I can pretend I look happy and then I can get back to work’.
She gave me one of those self-satisfied smiles and said;
‘I was lucky, I had au pairs’.
I mean, honestly, what can I say to that?
Me, pretending to gush, ‘Oh you were sooooo lucky’
Smiles. Awkward silence.
Anyway, Mrs Doctor Botox told me to lie down and start breathing in the gas. I mean come on, I’ve needed laughing gas to cope with some of the painful little pricks I’ve dated in the past but surely it’s not required for this simple procedure?
It was, however, offered so I sucked that gas down and immediately felt numb and giggly. Niceeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Then, Mrs Doctor Botox did something very strange, while injecting my head she started talking about having a lift installed in her new property, ‘it’s good to have a nice long shaft’, she said, followed by, ‘it’s important that the shaft goes in really nice and deep’.
And….even more bizarre was that each time she said the word ‘shaft’ she emphasized it.
You know those moments in time when you wonder ‘am I dreaming this?’. At first I wasn’t really sure if it was the gas, but knew it wasn’t. I really don’t know why I attract them, but I have always been a magnet for nut jobs all my life. When I lived in London, I could guarantee that any mental case on the tube would find me….even if they had boarded the train two carriages down.
Anyway, there’s no results yet. I understand I have to wait four days for any ‘movement’ so am guessing that by the weekend I’m either going to be looking remarkably ‘fresh’, emerge like Herman Munster with a furrowed brow or have to study lifts so I can go back to Mrs Doctor Botox and actually join in her ‘shaft’ conversation for some follow up work.
I have visions of Mrs Doctor Botox yesterday evening having a cup of tea with her husband;
‘I did that shafting conversation with a new client today’. Gosh I do love talking random shit to a client when they are on the laughing gas’.