Trixie McNasty

On Friday, February 4, 10am, I'm scheduled for LASIK. I've given the bookish thing a go, now I'm gonna try slut. Because hey, why stop at lasers? Extreme makeover here I come! With a little pluck here and a tiny tuck there, you too can reap the cosmetic benefits of our vain age.

I'm through being limited by prescription sunglasses. I want choice, damn it! I'm sick of seeing the world through a haze of greasy fingerprints. They never come clean! And the constant ring around the eyeball, blocking my field of vision? So stifling! It's enough to make a girl claustrophobic.

It sounds so futuristic. I'm going under the lasers. I'll be like that chick in Neuromancer -- I've always wanted to be that chick. Maybe the doctor'll screw shields over my eyes if I pay extra. That'd be awesome! Then maybe I'd find work as a cyberpunk assassin. I'll carve myself a niche in the cutthroat world of international espionage.

Hey, you don't know. It could totally happen.