Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London

A face full of Botox. What?

After the horrendous photo shoot, I am gladly at the office of my face saviour… But I am puzzled why, when I show people the sample pic from the shoot, they say, ‘Oh, you look great in this photo!’ What do THEY know? In this photograph, I have the face of a Schnauzer and the body of Anita Ekberg with elephantitis. I mean, seriously, I did not even know I owned the face they photographed: it is absolutely Pekinese!

Trying to drown my sorrows that I too will eventually succumb to death – though I’m working on it – I stumble up the stairs to the good doctor’s waiting room. I look at the plate of cookies (Exhibit A) and then the pot pourri (Exhibit B); I decide that the latter actually looks more palatable. But I have neither, and sit down and wait. This time, I won’t be the only one who eats the biscuits in the waiting room, as I mention at reception.

Exhibit A:

Get off me!

Exhibit B:

Yum. A very classy lady spoke up and said, ‘Oh, no, you’re not the only one who eats them…’ I look her up and down and think, ‘Lady, the last time you ate a biscuit you were 9 years old.’ She continues, ‘…my husband’s had quite a few.’ AH HA! SEE? No patient – and by that I mean the ladies who lunch – would dream of touching these sugary, floury confections. And all I could imagine was that the poor husband was eating them out of sheer boredom. She probably took him shopping at ‘Fridges or Nicks or ‘Rods afterwards, then made him watch her try on coats all afternoon long, then drive her home in rush hour traffic all the way to Herefordshire. (Headline next day: Husband Shoots Self In Shopping Boredom Horror!)

By the time the good doctor saw me – way too fast, I hadn’t even finished texting – I was flat on my back, being injected with all sorts. The needle went here and there, and here and there, and again and again. And it really HURT! Never mind. The good doctor was apologetic and gentle as could be. Had a party that night that was swinging… and luckily the lights were down low… no one saw the bruises. Well, until I pointed them out… and now I look just fab – but hopefully not smug, you know?

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