Okay, ‘fess up. Who submitted my name for those emails advertising liposuction? Did someone see me on the beach? That’s why I wear a granny one-piece bathing suit with a long skirt, for crying out loud. I’m not like some of these people who, frankly, would look better with less skin (and blubber) showing, like they’re auditioning for a “before” photo. I just shake my head and say, “Bless their heart. No one must love them enough to tell them that bathing suit would look better on a skinny ten-year-old.”

Now, let me be clear. I have nothing against liposuction. If someone wants to fork over thousands of dollars to have a vacuum cleaner inserted into their muffin top, who am I to judge? Especially when children are starving all over the world. (Okay, maybe I judged a little.)

But then this email for liposuction caught my attention. It promised to eliminate fat from upper and lower abs AND REMOVE LOOSE SKIN. Remove loose skin? I don’t technically have a belly roll, per se. It’s more like my stomach pouched over because my scoliosis left me with no waist, and now everything just . . . has to spill somewhere. But loose skin? Let’s just say the flapping under my triceps could generate enough lift to taxi down a runway. And my thighs? I look like a walking, jiggling Jello commercial.

Yes, I know these problem areas could theoretically be improved with exercise and strength training over a LONG period of time. I’ve tried that route. Who has that kind of determination and commitment? I could die waiting to get into shape. Besides, every time I step into the gym, I hurt myself. And, unless there’s a parking spot within six feet of the front door and complimentary donuts, I’m not working out. Just sayin’.

So, I clicked on the “Learn More About Liposuction” button as I snacked on Oreos. The site advertised advanced micro-laser liposuction to zap stubborn fat in every conceivable area of the body, along with personalized skin-tightening treatments. There were dramatic “before and after” photos, although I wondered if perhaps some of those pictures had been photoshopped. They even offer “pain-free” payment plans. Yeah, I’ll bet. My bank account says EVERYTHING is painful.

I imagined calling the clinic and saying in my most confident voice, “Hello, I’d like to order one waist, two thighs, and triceps that don’t wobble when I wave my arms. And if there’s a rewards system, I’d like to earn points toward a free eyebrow lift. Thank you.” Gosh, it would be nice to have eyebrows again.

Of course, there are pre-op requirements. You have to have “realistic expectations,” which apparently means I can’t bring in a picture of a 22-year-old Olympic gymnast and say, “This, but with less effort and a snack break.”
They also warn you about post-op swelling, which may last weeks or months. In my case, swelling would just be mistaken for my normal look, so no problem there.

But the best part? People won’t even know you had liposuction! They’ll just think you’ve been really disciplined. Like, “Wow, you look amazing! Have you been doing Pilates?” And you get to respond, “Yes, but the kind where you’re unconscious and a surgeon is aggressively rearranging your Dorito storage.”

Here’s the honest truth: I probably won’t get liposuction. Not because I’m against it, but because:
1. I am extremely committed to laziness.
2. My financial priorities are currently focused on groceries and doggy treats.
3. I don’t like the idea of someone using a Shop-Vac on my thighs while I’m asleep.

But if you’ve done it? Good for you! If you’re thinking about it? Go for it. As for me, I’ll be in my long-skirted swimsuit, avoiding the gym, and living life as I am. Because let’s face it, the only six-pack I’m likely to get comes from the bakery.