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Meredith Gordon: Aging Sucks: I Miss the Tops of My Tits

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I have great tits. I’m not telling you that to brag, I’m just telling you that because there’s not one part of my body, talent or personality you’ll ever hear me say is great. But I have great tits, for a normal person, who doesn’t photograph them for the Internet.

But I miss the tops. My tits used to have a top and now they just have a bottom and a side. Gravity, time, kids… they all take a piece out of you, specifically the tops of your tits.

So I guess I should say I used to have great tits. Now, I have great lower tits, which is absolutely a medical term.

I never really considered plastic surgery. I used to be one of those people who’d say, “I’d never get plastic surgery,” which is stupid. Don’t say you’ll never do something because chances are, you’re going to turn 40 and want to do it. Everyone around me seems to be on the fast track to cutting themselves up in order to stay young, so I wonder how long I’ll hold out.

Even people I never thought of as “typical candidates.” Just the other day, I was dropping my kid off at school and a very unlikely candidate asked me if I knew where she could get Botox (as if I’m pedaling it in the parking lot at pre-school) stating that I “seemed like someone who would know about stuff like that.”

Honestly, I do know about stuff like that, because I have this thing called the Internet that allows aging mothers to Google shit without offending some other aging Mom whose dropping her kid off at school. I know that Botox sounds fabulous because you can’t die from it. Worse case scenario, your face is f*cked up for a few weeks/months/years, but you’re not dead on the table, orphaning your kids.

Because honestly, plastic surgery scares the shit out of me. Forget being deformed or looking like that Cat Lady; I’d be the poor sap who gets the drunk doctor who ends me. And then for the rest of their long lives, my kids have to tell the world, “I don’t have a Mommy. She died trying to get a better rack.”

It won’t sit well with me in the afterlife.

Of course, I would totally be the first in line at the doctor’s office if I knew that 1.) I wasn’t going to die and 2.) I wasn’t going to look worse.

Because how many people do you know with plastic surgery who actually look better?

Exactly. They seem to all look newer or perkier, but not better. And certainly not younger.

And I don’t need my tits to look younger. I’d just like them to look taller. So really, what my boobs need is a higher heal. If there was just a tit-stiletto, I’d be happy. Sometimes, I even envision some sort of dangling lift that could rest on my ears, like the crane on my kid’s Bruder truck. It could clip on to my nips and hook on to my ears. The world would think I was wearing incredibly long earrings that would be overshadowed by my remarkably high boobs.

But wouldn’t it just be simpler if everyone would stop saying how great aging is, while they secretly ask for Botox recommendations in the parking lot or shove silicone into their boob-sack? Then we’d all just agree, aging sucks.

Everytime I see a commercial with Andie MacDowell or some other 40-ish gal talking about how she’s never felt better, I know it’s bullshit. Because I have actually felt better, like last year, and the year before that, and 20 years before that. I’ve totally felt better. Now, I just feel older.

Clearly, the smartest thing to do would be: go to medical school and become a plastic surgeon and rake in the cash. But until then, I’m going take my now-lower-boobs and my aging face and just admit it; aging sucks. I miss the tops of my tits.

Read the Rest of this Article ->: Comedy on HuffingtonPost.com on 6 March 2013






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