Luckily, I was able to power through and think of some stupid shit I’ve done that I haven’t yet shared with you. I took a laxative in Mexico. One that was purchased in Mexico, so the package was in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish. I think they were actually engineered for horses. Or elephants. I was desperate. I had that “I haven’t pooped in five days” traveling thing going on. I can wholeheartedly let you know that they did, in fact, work. So there’s that.
They weren’t in fact the same as the ones I had at home. Not at all.
How about every time I try to “trim” my own bangs? Every single time, I promise myself that I will start with a tiny chunk and work my way up until I achieve the desired length. And every single time, I cut them too short and make myself promise myself that I will never again cut my own damn bangs.
But today’s main story is about the time that I turned 40. I was feeling old, ugly and overly wrinkled and decided to give Botox a try. Don’t judge. Anyway, I’d been telling my husband for a couple of weeks that all I wanted to do was go to the beach for my birthday. Instead, he surprised me and booked the trip he wanted to take. Which was staying in some crappy cabins in the Shenandoah Valley.*
When we got there, it wasn’t the beach. First problem. Second problem? A six-inch centipede bug-thing on the wall. That was a pleasant birthday surprise. Lovely that I could kill it and still obsess about its many, many friends wanting to crawl on me all night.
Before my shoe:
We did go out for a nice dinner, enjoyed some live music and some wine. The next morning, I woke up and had a mild but tight, warm-feeling rash on the side of my face. After berating Robert about the crappy pillowcases and telling him they must use really cheap dryer sheets, we headed out for breakfast and Benadryl. My face felt better pretty quickly so we decided to check out some local attractions. We had a nice day and at about 3:00, I noticed the inside of my arm now had a rash. We stopped for some cortisone cream and that night I slept on his t-shirt over my pillowcase.
It wasn’t until the next day that it occurred to me that I’d just had poison injected INTO MY FACE and that, being as I’ve got sensitive skin and am allergic to just about everything, that, uh…maybe it was the Botox? Secret searches on my phone (because there was no way I was gonna tell Robert that I’d even had Botox much less that my continued rashes weren’t his fault for not booking a nicer place on the beach) confirmed that my traveling body rashes could be a side effect.
The moral? Botox is poison and I’m jealous as hell if you’re not allergic to it. And if your spouse wants to go to the beach on her 40th birthday? Take her to the beach or everything that goes wrong during the entire trip will be your fault. Forever.
Finish the Sentence Friday is hosted by:
*NOTE: Before you go hating on the hubs, know that I did agree to go to the Shenandoah Valley as we never got the beach stuff figured out and had already booked a trip to the Dominican Republic for later in the year. Plus, I still occasionally give him shit about this so he probably would be really sad if you did, too. Oh! And, he votes for Finding Ninee EVERY SINGLE DAY.