Two days before Mike and I left for California to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary, I decided to have a microderm and a “gentle” chemical peel to make my face glow much as it did the day he married me (yes, I was totally pregnant). The procedure smarted a bit, but logic suggested this should be expected, since I was paying someone to put acid on my face. Forty-five minutes later, my keen intuition suggested that something was definitely askew since my face was on fucking F.I.R.E.
By the time I got home, my face was oozing and bloody and my right eye was swelling shut. I decided to take a painkiller and proceeded to experience the greatest forty minutes of my entire life. So what that my face was dripping off onto my shirt? I was energized and liberated in ways I had never felt before. I wanted to clean my house, write a book, bathe the dogs, have another baby, have twelve more babies, hug some trees, start a revolution…I decided I was totally going to get addicted to that shit. Annnnnd then I violently barfed it up and discovered Betty Ford was not in my future.
Mike came home and instead of feeling sorry for me like a normal husband would be when his wife has a botched cosmetic procedure, he was super pissed. I was about to bust out my ole’ acting chops and pretend to cry, then realized not even commercials of starving Yorkies with Sarah McLachlan’s sorrowful voice droning on in the background would have made me drip salty tears onto my burning flesh wounds. I switched tactics. “Great news! She said I would look radiant by this weekend!” Mike stomped upstairs while I yelled after him, “I DID THIS FOR YOU MICHAEL! WHAT WILL IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU LOVE ME?!” He yelled back, “HOW ABOUT YOU STOP FUCKING WITH YOUR FACE?” Oh that’s realistic. Eye roll. I swear to God, he is so immature when we fight.
A few weeks later, my scabs had fallen off leaving bright pink scars in their place. I was lying on a lounge chair in Mexico hiding under big sunglasses and a hat drifting in and out of sleep when I had a vision…I was lying on a heated massage table, swathed in faux fur blankets from Restoration Hardware, listening to vintage French music. A beautiful, wrinkle-free angel floated over my face. She was wearing chic Christian Louboutin pumps and a crisp white lab jacket with “Lisa” embroidered in calligraphy on the pocket and she was holding a laser.
Omg. I needed to call Lisa. Duh. The Denver Skin Goddess. I jumped up and ran behind a palm tree to make an international phone call. Even though she was booked out for a solid month, I was able to finagle an appointment the following week due to the exaggerated duress in my voice. I went back and flopped down next to Mike. “Can I assume that you are experiencing an emergency, which is why you needed to make a fifty dollar phone call?” I ignored him and cannonballed into the pool.
Now before you begin torturing me for Lisa’s phone number, I must warn you…she is sort of intimidating. Her skin is flawless. Her clothes are designer. Her office is immaculate. Lisa has selflessly dedicated her life to making women prettier, a cause I wholeheartedly support and donate lots and lots and lots of money towards. Simply put, she is everything I want to be. She examined my face and gave me a magic potion made from foreskin. I listened intently as she told me to rub penis on my face twice a day even though it “smelled a little funny.” Copy that. My skin was super pretty in college. She knew what she was talking about.
Not surprisingly, Mike was unsupportive when I told him about my new skin regime. He said he could not believe he was paying for foreskin. Um….First of all, it is OUR money. Second, it was way more cost effective to purchase wienie cream in the US than to send me to Europe for treatment since nobody circs over there. Mike’s lack of foresight (hahaha that is almost like foreskin) totally unnerves me at times.
Okay so here’s the part you were waiting for….drumroll…wait fooooooor it…..wait fooooooooooooor it….MY FACE IS BETTER!!! Lisa fixed me. Even Mike agreed that my skin looks amazing. Getting a chemical burn was the best thing EVER. And because I am not a selfish, pretty hoarder, I will totally give you Lisa’s number with the understanding that you will not hog all her appointments. Love to each of you fabulous creatures! Have a wonderful weekend! Smoochies! XO
The Center For Aesthetic Facial Surgery