Congeries (con’ger-eez): Piling up words of differing meaning but for a similar emotional effect [(akin to climax)].
“The best, Yeah, yeah, yeah! All of it! Let’s roll all night long!“ That’s what I saw when I looked in the mirror, I exercise, I plasticize—I had an Airedale Terrier hair transplant, and soon I will have the eyes of a tiger—ha ha, just kidding. Actually I’m going for eagle eyes. Ha ha, just kidding again.
I’m 33, but I don’t look a day over 25. This is what life is about—how you appear; how you look. If you look 25, you are 25. With scalpels, stitches, and silicone your nose loses its hook and bump, and your boobie’s go bouncy jouncy, and your butt becomes Mt. Olympus—home of the gods and goddesses. And with capped teeth, you can smile your way into the guys’ hearts and wallets, blinding them to your nefarious intentions.
So, I found a man who’s 55, loaded with cash and in love with the 25-year-old version of me. We’ve been married 14 years and have a 14-year old daughter who doesn’t look like either of us. She looks a bit like Vince, the friendly guy who works behind the counter at Cliffs. Thank god my husband never goes there—he’d surely suspect something. But my daughter almost looks exactly like me—the actual me, the “pre-renovation” me. She has a hook and bump nose, flat chest, no butt, and snaggly teeth. Just like the actual me, she is ugly as sin.
I never told my husband about my “renovation.” He’s never bothered to check out my age. Then he ran across a picture of me with my mother when I was around 15. I should’ve burned it before he saw it. But I didn’t.. He asked me who the girl was in the picture and remarked on how ugly she was and how much she looked like our daughter. I told him it was me—that he had married a good-looking female Frankenstein. I thought he would go berserk, but he didn’t. He just said “Oh” and sat down behind his computer and started tapping. Later, he said he had booked us three tickets to Geneva, Switzerland where we would see the famous plastic surgeon Dr. Tightskinitski.
When we arrived at the DiMilo Clinic, I was separated from my husband and daughter. I was put in a room that looked like a hospital room. I was frightened and asked to see my husband. They told me I could see him “after the procedure.” I asked “What procedure?” and the two nurses laughed and asked if I wanted a Swiss chocolate bar.
I was groggy when I woke up, and I felt numb all over. I felt like I had been drained and refilled. My husband and daughter came in the room. My husband sad “Now you are who you are.” They laughed and left me alone.
The bandages were removed in a week. I looked in the hand mirror the nurse had given me. Dr. Tightskininski had undone my plastic surgery and orthodontia. I look at least 50. And I am uglier than our daughter. I asked my husband why he did this to me. He said “Because you deserved it you deceptive piece of crap. It would be different if you were fun to be with, treated me well, or cared about something more that my bank account and your disgusting affair with Vince. But even though she’s not my daughter, and even though she’s ugly, I’ll take care of her and love her like she’s my own flesh and blood.”
I was devastated. I was ashamed. I looked like shit.
POSTSCRIPT
After the dust settled she decided to get “restored” again. She went to Mexico, where plastic surgery is cheaper. The surgery was botched. Her nose was accidentally cut off and she bled to death on the operating table. Her former husband travelled to Mexico to retrieve her remains. He took only her nose back to New Jersey where he disposed of it in the Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge. Her husband threw it in a pond while cursing her. A beaver swimming by grabbed her nose and used it to plug a hole in its dam.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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