Here Today.....

[Ann]

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

My thighs were snatched from me during the night of March 22nd. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing? Whose thighs were these? What happened to mine?

I spent that entire summer looking for them. I searched, in vain, at pools and beaches, anywhere I might find female limbs exposed. I became obsessed. I had nightmares filled with cellulite. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.

Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My buns were next. I knew it was the same gang because they took pains to match my new derriere - although badly attached at least 3 inches lower than the original - to the thighs they had stuck me with earlier. Now my rear complimented my legs lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion.

It was 2 years later when I realized my arms had been switched. One morning while fixing my hair, I watched horrified but fascinated as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced, cleverly and fiendishly, a section at a time.

Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age creeps up, unnoticed and intangible, something like maturity. No. I was being attacked, repeatedly and without warning.

One spring, my attention was riveted to female upper arms. I studied them from every angle, being careful not to raise mine in public or flatten them too tightly against my body. In private I held them straight out and did endless circles that would have tightened my real arms but did nothing for these silly putty caricatures. In the end, in deepening despair, I gave up my arms and my T-shirts. What could they do to me next?

In short order, my boobs could hold a pencil. My poor neck disappeared more quickly than the Thanksgiving turkey it now reminded me of.

That's why I've decided to tell my story. I can't take on the medical profession by myself. Women of America, wake up and smell the coffee! That isn't really "plastic" those surgeons are using. You know where they're getting those replacement parts, don't you.

The next time you suspect someone has had a face "lifted", look again. Was it lifted from you? Check out those tummy tucks and raised buttocks. Look familiar? Are those your eyelids on that movie star? I think I finally may have found my thighs. I hope Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them.