Frans Face

For many years, Frances had been saving her pennies for the operation that would when needed return her to the beautiful looking girl she had once been. She had become a vain person and felt in her heart that her looks had carried her through life, never considering that there might be more to her than just a pretty face. Although others recognized the goodness inside of her, the way she could captivate you with just her actions, without fail everyone would always comment on her stunning looks; even as she aged and her face began to show it.

As a child she had been one of those unfortunate little girls who had been traipsed all around the country to one beauty pageant after another and the importance of her looks had been pounded into her all during her childhood "career". You see, talent was important as well as poise and composure but the key element in winning had to begin with beauty; that was the foundation of it all. There were many times when she pleaded with her mother, not wanting to participate any longer but her mother knew best and Frances learned early on that it was easier to comply than to be herself; "you have to give them what they want, you've got it, use it" became the motto.

Her teenage and early adult life had been typical yet she was still atypically beautiful; she had been given a gift that she had to preserve. Her lifetime included marriages as well as divorces never wanting children who would ravage her body; never wanting to bear the brunt of even the image of her swollen belly. As she continued to age she knew that her beauty was beginning to fade. She cried the day she noticed the first line by her eye, the line that she felt was the first crack in her face and from that moment on began saving for the surgery.

By the time she was sixty she had undergone an eyelift, rhinoplasty, had liposuction, a tummy tuck and knew a complete face lift was on its way; Botox had become a staple for her. Each time she was fully recovered she would prance around her house draped in the tattered ribbons she had won as a child; she would never discard them! Poor Frances could never comprehend that no matter what she looked like on the outside, her true beauty was from within. Her life had been devoted to social work and although there was never any real money in it, it had taught her to love and care for others.

Frances was now what you would consider old, she was in her late seventies yet still looked perhaps like she was forty or so. She had again scheduled an appointment for a consultation with her favorite plastic surgeon and on her way to his office never even felt the onset of the stroke that took her life that day. As she wished she was laid to rest in a cherry red gown and next to her were her treasured childhood ribbons. Many people attended her funeral and despite all of the good she had done for others, everywhere you turned the topic of conversation was her beauty. As odd as it may seem, Frances' beauty never faded; not even in death. She would have been very pleased.