Friday, April 3, 2009

Good morning, Erica

The question about beauty procedures for me is are they simply an extention of being well-kempt or is there a point when they become ridiculous; for example when you have fifty surgeries so you can look like plastic Barbie.  That may be taking things too far.


dede said...

I love that this is good morning at what 12:30 your time? You never change and that is one of the things we LOVE about you!
I can't wait until I can sleep until noon.

I'm not opposed to "getting work done". My only beef is that it seems like we are almost expected to in our society.

Miss Magpie said...

Good morning Sunshine! Oh, how I love you.

Louise Plummer said...

This isn't the correct time. I swear it.

Ann said...

Dede! Erica! Do you believe her when she says 12:30 isn't the correct time?

(I love her, too!)

Rabbit said...

I had forgotten how awful it was to wake up looking at you, Louise. I've imagined you as the gorgoeus girl I married. I'm delusional. Stay in Newport Beach. Don't come home. I'll manage.

dede said...

Anne, we will always know the truth.

Darlene said...

I've wondered the same thing. There's a line somewhere, beyond which is vanity, vanity, all is vanity. But where's the line?

My mom thought it was vanity to dye her hair.

Here's a poem for you (by me) (and I apologize--this comment format is messing up the lineation):

Angels of Mercy

The Seventh Ward Relief Society
presidency argued long and soft
whether Janie Goodmansen deserved
to have the sisters bring her family meals.
It seems that precedent was vague--
no one was sure if "boob job" qualified
as a legitimate call for aid.
Janie herself had never asked for help--
a fault they found it harder to forgive
even than the vanity behind
the worldliness of D-cup ambition.
But in the end charity did not fail.
The sisters marched on in grim duty
each evening clutching covered casseroles
(for, after all, it wasn't the children's fault).
More than once, though, by some oversight
the dessert came out a little short, as if
by some consensus they all knew
that Janie's husband, Jim, could do
without a piece of pie that night.