The worst thing about losing weight is – you guessed it – wrinkles. I didn’t even think about it until I looked at my neck in the mirror one day and noticed some vertical lines. Ugh…shit, what the fuck is that? Why didn’t somebody tell me this could happen? Oh hell no! Great, now I’m obsessed with my neck. My huckleberry chicken neck. It raised my hackle feathers.
Damn, slap some batter on my gowls and call Colonel Sanders because now he has something he can throw in the fryer. I have skinny legs too. Dammit, maybe I am a chicken. I better not cross the road, many jokes will ensue.
Here’s a picture of me, mother clucker…
It drives me bonkers. I can’t stop examining my neck. I bought an expensive wrinkle cream especially formulated for my…um, dilemma. I massaged that shit on first, and then I slathered my neck skin with vitamin E. I also bathe in coconut oil to keep my skin hydrated. I will do anything to tighten up my fowl membranes. I’ve been doing it for a few weeks. I have to admit, the creams have helped a lot.
When I’m at work I glare at other women’s necks and compare them to my own. One gal came up to the cash who looked about the same age as me. Dang, she had a huge gaping hole shape in the front of her throat, you could seriously eat soup out of it. It might even have enough room for crackers.
Later, another lady came to pay for some groceries. I observed a big cavern and deep, wrinkled lines on her throat. It looked like Freddie Kruger clawed her.
Jeeze, maybe my neck isn’t that bad after all. Am I just being vain or overly critical of myself? A slightly wrinkled neck is way better than a soup bowl neck, and…well, the other chick better try to stay awake.
It’s the Capricorn in me. I’m too much of a perfectionist and little imperfections gnaw into my brain like a gnat. It haunts me.
Please God, just give me a fucking smooth neck so I won’t go insane! I have to look good for the men, you know. Ha ha!