For most of my adult life, I thought about cosmetic surgery the way I think about haute couture fashion and tiny, expensive sports cars: fun for daydreaming, but completely out of context to my life to seriously consider for myself.
Sure, I stood in front of a mirror, and pinched the fat and lifted the skin to imagine what things would look like if something was pulled here, rearranged there. I researched the surgery, compared before-and-after photos, watched the reality television shows about extreme makeovers, and yeah … I wondered.
But such a thing was too vain. Too expensive. Too extraordinary to realistically consider.
Until I went trick-or-treating with my sister.Continue reading