As a general rule of thumb I don't write about the boyfriend. Oh sure, I mention him obliquely, as my partner in crime. But I don't write anything specifically about him. Not anymore. Not since the unfortunate post I wrote about his peculiar "Judge Judy" viewing habits. I won't link to it because, really, why open old wounds. He had actually urged me to write that post because he thought it was cute and quirky, but then he was angry once he read it. He said that the way I had written it made him look bad. As if there was a way to write it and make him look good.At any rate, ever since then, the boyfriend has been off limits.
Which is a shame really, because there were potentially dozens of great stories. Especially this one. But I had promised him I wouldn't write about him any more. So imagine my delight when he told me I had permission to share just this one. He's really quite proud of it so I only hope I do him justice.
So here we go...
Our story begins back in May. The boyfriend has a co-worker - let's call her "Bobbie Sue". I've always wanted to use that name. He and Bobbie Sue have a very hot and cold relationship. One week they're friends, the next... not so much. But this happened to be a good week and I received a call from him one evening telling me he was going to be home late and to just go ahead and eat without him. When I asked what he was up to he told me he and Bobbie Sue were going to get...
Botox.
The boyfriend has been wanting to get Botox for, like, ever. He's been a bit obsessed about it. He doesn't need it at all; he easily looks ten years younger than his age and has few if any wrinkles. But try telling him that. At any rate, he'd never gotten it before but I knew it was just a matter of time. All he needed to start down the slippery slope was an enabler. And that proved to be Bobbie Sue.
She had been going through some trying times and someone had given her a gift certificate at one of the numerous plastic surgery outfits here in town. I've never figured out why there are so many plastic surgeons here, but there must be about a gazillion. How they survive in this podunk town is beyond me. Looking around town it would appear that either nobody uses them or they do and the surgeons just aren't any good.
Bobbie Sue had decided she wanted to finally use her gift certificate to get some Botox. Personally, I don't know that I would use a glorified Groupon for plastic surgery, but that's just me. Bobbie Sue didn't want to go alone, so she asked the boyfriend if he wanted to go with and, let's just say she didn't have to twist his arm.
When he finally got home, he was, in a word, ecstatic. He dragged me into the bathroom to check out "the work". The difference was slight, but noticeable. He was, of course, as handsome as ever, but the small creases between his brows had vanished, like they had been airbrushed away. I was relieved to see he still had a complete range of facial motions.
And that appeared to be that. The subject of Botox didn't really come up again.
Until last week.
Once again, he called me to tell me he would be late. Three months had passed and it was time for a "touch up". Again, he came home and the differences were slight. It didn't much matter to me and it seemed to make him happy. Whatever floats your boat, I say.
And then Saturday rolled around and we were planning our day and he informed me that he had a 2pm appointment.
It would appear that Botox is a "Gateway Drug".
"Honey" I said. "You don't need any more Botox. Why are you going back?"
He wasn't going back for Botox... this time it was for collagen. In his lips!
I had visions of Duck Lips and tried to talk him out of it. Remember the cautionary tale of Meg Ryan? She went from being "America's Sweetheart" to "Howard the Duck" with one too many lip procedures. She's washed up now. Or that Cat Lady in New York. I tried to put the brakes on but I knew it was already too late. He disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with white crap all over his lips, like zinc oxide. "What's that?" I asked. It was to anesthetize his lips.
Without even thinking, he kissed me good-bye. I lost feeling in my lips for the next three hours.
He was gone for a very long time. I began to grow concerned. What if there was horrible collagen accident? Should I call and check up on him?
Just then the front door burst open and he rushed in clutching his hand over his mouth yelling "I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!"
Oh dear God. What had he done?!? This shit isn't reversible. I ran to the bathroom where he was checking his face in a mirror. I tried to mentally prepare myself for coming face to face with Joan Rivers. Just then he spun around with a huge grin on his face - he was KIDDING! He LOVED it. They ever so slightly plumped his lower lip and they gave him a little heart shaped bow to his upper one.
So now he's hooked. There's no putting that horse back in the barn. I shudder to think what's coming next.
He's trying to convince me to join him on the Botox wagon train, but I'm just not going for it. The way I figure it, I'm exposed to enough toxins in this town as it is. I'm not about to inject them into my face too.
