Six and two-thirds years ago I submitted to some plastic surgery in the magical city of Prague. It was basically about removing my neck wattle and fixing a certain sag-ass look that had developed around my eyes, which made me look a little too much like Chris Walken after a bad night. It wasn’t like having heart surgery, but it wasn’t like having a tooth out either. I called what I had done a “touch-up”, and I still call it that. My initial interest was about eliminating the neck wattle, but then a Los Angeles plastic surgeon said, “As long as you’re having work done, I would do something about your eyelids and eye bags.”

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