Malingering’s World

One odd cosmetic procedure that happens way too often around here is the artificial lip explosion which involves women getting a needle shoved into their lips and having synthetic materials injected into their faces (my guess is these are the same women that freak out that their water bottles are toxic and cause breast cancer). This looks awful, plain and simple. I always let out an unsuppressed guffaw when they walk by. I’m sorry, but lips should not extend so far from the face that they are at risk of catching on low hanging tree branches or knocking over store displays. Cars come standard with air bags now. You need not create your own on your face of all places. That’s what breast implants are for.

My friend and I have recently been fascinated by lip plumping glosses which apparently contain things like capsacin or niacin or menthol to irritate your lips, cause capillary flushing, and basically cause enough inflammation that you will have a big poofy pout and come hither sexpot lips. (This has inspired me to try to get bee stings on my boobs, on the off chance that I may be allergic to them.) I have never had a need for bigger lips (I was rather embarrassed of my mouth as a kid and fortunately I sort of grew into my sausage lips) so I can’t understand the desire, but I thought I would try it anyway just to see what happened. I put on some Lip Injector and everything seemed fine for about 2 minutes. I got into line with my sister, who was buying some Urban Decay eyeliner called ROACH which made us giggle, and all of the sudden I felt a tremendous burning around my mouth as if I’d just made out with that jalapeno pepper eating world champion or stuck my mouth in a frying pan. Of course then began in impulsive hand flapping and yelping, as well as shouting obscenities in the middle of the cosmetics store and running in purposeless circles searching for some relief. I almost stuck my head in the cooling foot rub over in the pedicure aisle but fortunately the burn wore off after 10 or 15 minutes. Did my lips look any more scrumptious? Not that I could tell.

Once there was this skank whore (who used to fondle my ex-boyfriend while he and I were out and would tell me that I could never love him the way she does though that was several years ago and that detail is beyond the point) who came up to me after groping my ex-boyfriend’s chest (she can have him now, they deserve each other) and asked me if my lips were real. I started laughing (very, very hard) and could not validate her completely idiotic question with any sort of response (including “if you’d stop being a whore, pay attention to your husband rather than the guy I’m with, act like a damn grown up and tried to make stupid party small talk you would know that I’d rather have a bullet through the head than collagen injected into my face you fucking moron”). As I was grabbing for my camera to get photos of this dickweed she said “I’ve had my lips done and honey, I’ll tell you that makes botox feel like a fucking band-aid!”

Okay, what does that mean? Like one of those round little band-aids that you put on a paper cut and it falls off the next time you wash your hands? Or like a big thick three day old elastic band-aid on some guy’s hairy gut after he had his gall bladder out? There’s a big difference.

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