She refused to admit she’d received botched collagen implants. “They look fine to me,” she contended, even though her lips now looked like squashed candy apples. No, her lips now looked like elderly beanbag chairs. Her lips looked like bloody, chubby larvae. God, I hate writing sometimes, though I still love her, despite her saying “Well, your face sucks. You have skin tags so large, they sway back and forth on windy days.” When I said “Yes, my face does suck, but not ’cause I paid to have it disfigured,” she emitted a loud wail that sounded like—sounded like—
Copyright © 2020 by David V. Matthews
DAVID V. MATTHEWS 