“Go ahead, Fran. Say it. I look terrible.”

“Well, you do look a little worse for wear. What happened?”

“Plastic surgery.”

“What?”

“Plastic surgery. I turned 45 last month, Fran, and I took a long hard look at my life. I’m single, I have no prospects, I work a dead end job, plus it’s been years since anyone ever took me to a good concert like Phil Vassar or Midge Ure.”

“So you went to a plastic surgeon? But you look… you look…”

“Grotesque?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say that, but… yeah, I was going to say that. But I don’t get it. Isn’t plastic surgery supposed to make you look better?”

“I was getting to that. Anyway, I thought that if I got a face lift, maybe some Botox shots, that I could take ten years off of my life. So I saw this ad in the newspaper about this clinic that was having a ‘celebrity special.’ For $1,000 I could have the face of any celebrity I wanted.”

“Cool.”

“That’s what I thought. And you should have seen their catalog. There were so many faces to pick from, like Cher, Gwen from No Doubt, even Aimee Mann.”

“Those are all fine faces, so how did… I mean…”

“How did I end up with this monstrosity of a mug? Well, as it turned out, I chose Nicole Kidman’s face. You know, as she appeared in Moulin Rouge!? I figured that with a face like that, the men would be lining up to take me to concerts. Maybe even The Rolling Stones or Phish.”

“But that face doesn’t look anything like Nicole Kidman.”

“I know. You see, when I picked the face I wanted, it just so happened that the nurse writing down my order was hard of hearing.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right. When I asked for Nicole Kidman’s face, she gave me Nick Nolte’s face, instead.”

“You poor dear. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m getting used to it. Just one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Every time I go down to the supermarket, I just wish the mothers would stop yelling at me for scaring their children.”