Most of you have read the scare-mail about the person whose kidneys were
stolen while he was passed out. Well, read on. While it was an "urban
legend," this one is not. It's happening every day.
My thighs were stolen from me during the night of August 3rd a few
years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke
up with someone else's thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked
oatmeal. Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been
wholly, if imperfectly, mine for years. Whose thighs were these? What
happened to mine?
I spent the entire summer looking for them. I searched, in vain, at
pools and beaches, anywhere I might find female limbs exposed. I became
obsessed. I had nightmares filled with cellulite and flesh that turns to
bumps in the night. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living
out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.
Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My butt
was next. I knew it was the same gang because they took pains to match
my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower
than the original) to the thighs they had stuck me with earlier. Now my
rear complimented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long
skirts would stay in fashion.
It was 2 years ago when I realized my arms had been switched. One
morning while fixing my hair, I watched, horrified but fascinated, as
the flesh of my upper arms swung to and for with the motion of the
hairbrush. This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced,
cleverly and fiendishly, one section at a time.
Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age was supposed to creep up,
unnoticed something like maturity.
NO, I was being attacked, repeatedly and without warning.
In the end, in deepening despair, I gave up my T-shirts. What could
they do to me next? My eyes began to remind people that they needed a
new pair of Hush Puppies. My poor neck disappeared more quickly than the
Thanksgiving turkey it now reminded me of.
That's why I've decided to tell my story; I can't take on the medical
profession by myself. Women of America, wake up and smell the coffee!
That isn't really "plastic" those surgeons are using.
You know where they're getting those replacement parts, don't you? The
next time you suspect someone has had a face "lifted," look again! Was
it lifted from you?
Are those your eyelids on that movie star? I think I finally may have
found my thighs...and I hope that Cindy Crawford paid a really good
price for them!
This is happening to women in every town every night. Warn all your
friends.
P.S. I feel much better knowing this is happening, I thought I was just
getting old! I must say that last year I thought someone had stolen my
breasts. I was lying in bed and they were gone, as I sprang from my bed
I was relieved to see that they were just hiding in my pajama bottoms.
After reading this, I will keep them hidden in my waistband.
CHEERZ
Fran
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