BOTOX AND CHEESE

I feel like a piece of Italian Parmesan before the make over.

The doctor is here with the needles and I can turn into a plump, soft French brie anytime soon.

In fact, I have been invited to what is defined as a house “Botox party”, where thirty-something ladies that want to look twenty something are having botox injections delivered to their door.

The cheese plate is ready, together with the wine. A distraction from the surgical nightmare.

The doctor is an uncanny old man, come straight from the Silence of the Lamb. And there is definetely silence around the room as youth starts running through the veins.

Not my veins, though.

As I keep ageing, I start to look like Jesus Christ, my face becoming slimmer and slimmer, my under eyes more pronounced and my blonde hair longer and longer. But I somehow fear the cosmetic transformation more than I fear the crucifixion.

When it’s over, every face looks like a soft cheese. My friend turned into a ricotta, her sister resembles a camembert. I have to be careful not to spread their faces on the bruschetta.

I am still a dry, aged piece of parmesan. But that’s alright. I get grated every night on the most delicious meals. And when people taste me they still say “Yummy.”

@anywhere in Sydney

#botox #cheese #needles #parmesancheese #jesuschrist