watch_me

                                          SOMEONE'S BEEN WATCHING ME...

My thighs were stolen from me during the night of August 3rd a few
years ago. 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 to legs
that had been wholly, if imperfectly, mine for years? Whose thighs
were these? What happened to mine?

I spent the 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 and flesh that turns to bumps in the night. 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 rear end was next. I knew it was the same
                                              gang, because they took pains to match my new rear
                                              end (although, badly attached, at least three 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.

Two years ago 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, one section at a time.

In the end, in deepening despair, I gave up my T-shirts.

                                               What could they do to me next? Age? Age had nothing to do
                                                with it.   Age was supposed to creep up, unnoticed and
                                                intangible, something like maturity.   NO, I was being
                                                attacked, repeatedly and without warning. That's why I've
                                                decided to share 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 buttocks raisings.
Look familiar?
Are those your eyelids on that movie star? I think I finally may
have found my thighs...and I hope that Cindy Crawford paid a
really good price for them!