The Lady, The Hag & The Wolf Doctor

This is a cautionary tale.  At times, it may seem like this has happened For Realz.  But lets just pretend it didn't.

The woman, she is aging.   And, as aforementioned, it is not particularly pleasing.

But, I/she may have discovered a new underworld.  A fantasy land of sorts full of anti-aging products and procedures.  I/She may have taken a peek into these places, for research sake.  For you, not for me.  Just in case I/She, I mean you, might be in need of some help.

Jesus, help me.  For the sake of clarity, we will refer to the Woman/She/Hag as "I" or "Me".  Because none of this is real, but that is only because I am such a good writer.   It may seem at times like it did happen, but clearly, I am an empathic YOUTHFUL writer. Yep.  Back to the tale.

I think the quest for youth might be addicting.  I have seen the underbelly of a youth addiction – and I like it. Sort of.  Like all addictions, it has it’s drawbacks.

I just got back from the eye “salon” (aka glasses dealer) where I received my first prosthetic device.  

It has all become clear to me now.  It was blurry before -- but only close up.

The Lady, she was a smooth talker.  “Progressive lenses are the best (aka most expensive), and  “non-glare is a must”.  She petted the new frames.

A must?  Really? I’ve rather enjoyed my blurry, bright, squinty Neanderthal existence.  But, what do I know, I am like a lump of clay.  All that squinting has probably given me even more wrinkles.  A wrinkled lump of clay.  

Damn it.

I was just thinking they would make me look smarter (and sometimes I need all the help I can get).  But, these, THESE glasses will CHANGE my life.  Thank you Lady.

Wow.

I hung my Hag head in shame.  How could I have been out in public without THESE glasses?  I need to look dope. Dope, I say.

The Hag, she stops for a minute.  She is thoughtful.  A song is playing in the back of her messy head but she can't make out what it is...

Will they give me a headache?  No, no, the Lady she says "Nay".  They will NOT. I think the Lady said I would look dope. 

SOLD!  SOLD to the Hag who needs a clue.

That was experience #1.  Onto #2 –I’ve got all kinds of problems. 

I decided that it might be a good idea to inch even further out the precipice and go see a plastic surgeon.  Let us just say that if a Hag went to a plastic surgeon’s office to talk about some….stuff – what MIGHT She have experienced? 

Said Hag jumped in the Hag-Mobile and went for a field trip to the big city.

Mayyyybbeee, he was extra goooood looking (let’s just say that for the sake of science).  And, if that were so, how could a person/Hag, such as herself, seeking youth and all that it attracts, not listen to said-God-of-the-Surgery-Underworld. I was a lamb (mutton,really, if we want to be generationally correct) in the wolve’s den.

At this appointment, Perfect-Like-a-God Doctor would have peddled his services. 

The services he could offer me flowed out of his perfectly formed lips like butter.  Like butter, I said.  Everybody knows every Hag loves the butter.  

The good Doktor would have tried not to seem too alarmed when looking at my face.  But, me thinks he was screaming silently INSIDE his head “Zombie.  ACK!  Zombies are here. Nurse. NURSE!”  

Meanwhile, on the outside he was slowly, thoughtfully, nodding as he stared into my crazy-googly-hagged eyes, listening like no husband ever would.  But the gentle concern/full on terror would have been definitely there.  Just a ka-niggle of concern showing.  Well, let’s just say maybe it was there in a big way on his face, JUST for the sake of this blog. 

His recommendations were lengthy.  At the very MINIMAL level (that’s just where I would have to start given the money these things require), BOTOX is a MUST. 

He was probably peeking out his shades (wet nose on the window, panting tongue slowly licking the window) as I drove up in the Hag-Mobile.   Inside his God-like Wolf Doctor-head he was doing a jig.  “Ka-ching-a-ling-f'in-ling! What do we have here, but a Haggety Hag Hag?!  To-night, Daddy is gittin him some new shoes.  TOO-NIGHT!  Bring it on, Hag. Arrr Roooo! Bring. It. On."   

Hag-No-More (as she was aptly renamed), skipped out of the office swinging her dope purse with an unfurrowed brow and dreams of plumped lips & slimmed hips.  She promised the good Doktor she would bring a Bus O' Hags with her next time.

You Devil-Dog-Doctor, You. 

Holy cheese and rice.  Enough to make the Pope quit his job.

Later, at home....Hag-No-More is thoughtful.....

Without my progressive glasses, when I look out of the side of my eyes, I am a flawless beauty.  It’s blurry, but I’m pretty sure it’s me in the mirror.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s me.

Why the hell did I get those glasses anyway?  I can do “blurry” for free.

The Hag remembers the words to a song she couldn't recall earlier.  
And it goes like this....

I call that getting swindled and pimped.
I call that getting stripped by a business. 
-Macklemore

And, now I feel a little dizzy.  And, Yes, Yes, Shyster Lady, I do have a headache.  Stupid Lady,  Stupid progressive lenses, Stupid Hag Vanity.

Hag Out.