Soz for the up-nose shot, y’alls
Recently, I was at a launch chatting to one of my beauty pals (she knows who she is …) and we were discussing treatments, new products and all that malarkey. “I’ve just been to see my dermatologist,” she said conspiratorially, showing me the subtle, smooth skinned results around eyes, forehead and nose before dropping this clanger. “And she said I had a cellulite chin.”
A what now?
I couldn’t care less about having cellulite on my arse or my legs to be perfectly honest. No one barring me and Himself Indoors ever sees either, and sure we’re grand with them. So you know, I feel like I have better things to spend time, energy and money worrying about. Like how to earn a living as a freelance in a deep recession and that; a lumpy arse sort of takes a backstage seat.
But a cellulite CHIN? Shit. I’d have to do something about that, wouldn’t I? People would see.
“Scrunch up your face there,” she instructed. “I’ll take a look.”
I dutifully did, knowing in my crisp-loving heart of hearts what the answer would be. Oh yes, Frillseekers, I have a cellulite chin to match my cellulite buttocks and thighs. Characterised by, well, a lumpy, bumpy texture, there is apparently something you can do about it: Botox. This acts as it does elsewhere, freezing the facial muscles so you can’t make your face move to show the dimples.
Or, of course since my cellulite chin only becomes really apparent when I pull totally gruesome contortions, I guess I could just stop doing that too.
Y’know, one or the other.