The Poetic Slicence of Plastic Surgery

My, What Big Ears You Have …

I’m in awe of Matt Stone and Trey Parker, creators of South Park. I love their warped humour and their characters—foul-mouthed, politically incorrect bunch of yobs. I admire Stone and Parker’s ability to satirise.

Apparently, I do a bang-up job of this myself, according to an Amazon Hall of Fame reviewer. She said it had been a really long time since she’d read good satire, and she ‘simply adored’ my book, Odyssey in a Teacup (Book 1 in the Ruth Roth Series).

Chuffed, of course, I hadn’t thought of myself as a satirist. I thought I was just writing humour, Aussie style. Taking the piss out of everything is a favourite pastime, an idiot-proof one because so much about life is stupid.

Anyway, because I’m fond of parody, some time ago I commissioned a caricature of myself and added it to the cover images of all my social media accounts. Now, it seems, the joke is on me.

As we get older, our nose gets wider, our chin gets longer, our ears get bigger. I’m starting to look like that caricature and my Maker is laughing.

The Sag Awards

Occasionally, my mirror turns bitchy. It makes me push my droopy Basset-Hound jowls upwards, reminding me of the way I used to look.

In a moment of great, great weakness, I even asked myself what I could do about this.

Who knew there were so many options? A lot involve going under the knife, but there’s also a heap of non-surgical approaches like dermal fillers, botox, etcetera. I dare say none of these procedures is as painful as the ongoing process of self-acceptance.

Back to that moment of great, great weakness, though. I imagined that if I did decide to ‘alter’, I’d likely go the whole hog? As above, so below. Top ’n’ tail.

So, a facelift and a … vaginaplasty?

Oh, I don’t think so.

A collagen boost for the lips and lips, then? An injection for the upper; vontouring for the lower. (Vontouring is the treatment du jour for a saggy twat. Non-surgical, laser vaginal tightening.)

Nope, again.

Should I consider opting for a vajaycial—a kind of facial for the vagina?

Nope to that too.

No mofo’s going anywhere near my coochie with a vacuum glass, pore cleaner or a micro-exfoliator! I can barely weather a speculum.

A Stitch in Time

Self-improvement is different for everyone. And far be it from me to judge others for wanting to do what makes them feel good. The shift in appearance that comes with getting older is made so much harder for us women with the endless, subliminal body-shaming that fills the airwaves. And although I’ve been hostage to social mores at times, there’s no rhyme or reason to much of it.

There was, however, a reason for my rhyming when, as a member of an online writers’ community, I used to submit poetry. Mostly, it was because I was too bloody lazy to invest any time in writing short stories. Or maybe it was because the power of poetry cuts deeper than a scalpel can.

By No Stretch

If the body-shaming tries to have its way with me again, I shall look back on this particular poem I wrote:

Just slide your numbing stent inside my vein,

And knock me out to make me young anew,

As botoxed brow and hoisted chops regain

a mirror casting back a luscious view

Two silicone balloons augment my chest,

Please liposuck my dimpled thighs and hips.

With tummy tuck, my blubber you’ll divest,

Then give me JLo’s arse and Jolie’s lips

A cougar I’ll still be, but who would know —

my spandexed bod will surely hide the facts?

Oh wait … inflation tends to reach a low,

And skin-tight stretching ends up looking lax

On second thoughts, it seems that I’ve been blind:

You have to wear a mask but mine’s not writ.

I’m outta here; I think I’ve changed my mind,

’Cause when it’s lost I’ll hardly give a shit.

At the end of the day, even if I haven’t lost my mind, I’d rather look at a caricatured version of my younger self in the mirror than a version I don’t recognise.

This was originally written as a guest post (Not A Big Stretch) for https://overtherainbowbookblog.wordpress.com