PIP, vanity or plain insanity?
In 2008, I won the ‘savings’ race and got to collect my new enhanced face (.)(.)
4 years of joy and the odd groping by boys. I undeniably liked my new toys.
Despite the rumours, a snob I’m not. I was happy with what I got.
But then that BBC3 programme made PIP implants look proper ROT!
So mattress silicone, what’s the big deal?
Nothing I guess, unless you listen to the spiel.
Toxic, poison, savage, knots. Cancer, well yeah that’s the ultimate plot!
Truth or dare? I have no care for middle aged mums who enjoy spreading scare.
Nor could I ignore reason and rhyme that told me something should be done about mine.
Ah but, surely you won’t have to pay again?
The faults not with you, it’s with them!
And maybe if I wanted to chase Mr Ace, with his fat suitcase and undoubtedly plastic face,
I’d eventually find him and get to plead my case.
Go for 1001 scans, cry to the insensitive man and get a tiny discount in a can.
But begging?! Nah, I’m really not a fan.
So, another 4k I’ve spent to expend the toxic silicone tents.
I went back under the knife, hoping “God” would keep me alive.
It probably would have been cheaper to buy a life vest,
Sail to the West and live alone putting the chemicals to the test.
When I woke up the offenders were lying next to me, round and plump, but headed for the DUMP!
Now I’m poison free, but what a boring place to be.
Hooked on antibiotics and the settee, watching shit daytime TV.
Every minute, anxious fingers check the state of affairs- yes the stitches are still there.
And no I don’t yet need intensive care.
Same old story, but different score, either way my stitches feel red RAW!
The receptionist has become my summer fling, ringing daily- insisting I check in!
“No bleeding, nausea, shortness of breath? You must let me know or you’ll be in danger of death!”
In 2012, I lost the ‘savings’ race and got to collect my new enhanced face (.)(.)