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Surgery
in Johannesburg, South
Africa Procedures : U&L eyes, nose tip
refinement, face & neck lift,
filler to the lips
'that's
life!'
Magazine
21
October 2004
My facelift revenge - I had the last
laugh on cheating Mick
Written
by Kelly Strange
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Waking up, shifting in bed, my thigh
brushed against the big, hairy leg
next to mine. Which
was all it took… ‘Mick’?
I
murmured.
He opened one eye, gave me a lazy,
sexy stare.
In moments, we were making
love.
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Why, I wondered, didn’t more women
realise what the secret of a great sex
life was? A much younger,
horny man. I was 52, my
hubby Mick, only 36. And our six-year marriage just got
better every day.
I didn’t
look my age. With a size 10 figure, I was lithe and
trim. Mick, a JCB driver, was always
praising me. I’d been married
before, had three sons, Wayne was 32 –
close to Mick’s age – Paul was 22 and
Robert, my youngest, 14.
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I’d wanted a baby with Mick, but
doctors found I’d stopped producing
eggs – the only time my age had
bothered me. Mick, though,
accepted it. ‘It just isnt’t meant to be,
he’said.
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Instead, we’d left London for the
countryside of Tipperary in
Ireland. I loved the gentler pace of
life. The only drawback was money – or lack
of it. So Mick came up with a
plan. ‘There’s a job going for a manager on
a building site’, he told me. ‘
In London’. My
heart sank. It
was so far away. ‘I’ll be back every weekend to see
you,’ he promised. Well,
we did need
the money.
So
I waved him off. And after a couple of weeks, I was
even enjoying it. Mick’s homecomings felt like dirty
weekends. Then, one time, he
didn’t turn up.
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‘Sorry, I’ve been working flat out’
Mick said on the phone. I hated
this. ‘We should be together,’ I told
myself. So I took Robert and I went to stay in
London too – with my brother Pat, who
was putting Mick up.Mick was shocked. ‘I still won’t see you in the week,’
he explained. ‘I’ve started kipping in the car near
the site – saves me an hour’s drive
each way.’ Yet again, I had to
put up with seeing Mick only at
weekends.
Then six weeks on, when Friday came
around, he didn’t return. I
waited, my emotions swinging between
fury and worry. Finally, on Monday morning I tracked
him down at the building site.
‘I went on a bender,’ he
said. Out playing the lad all weekend while
I waited at home? He’d have to explain himself a lot
better than that.
I waited for the next weekend,
determined to have it out with
him. But on Friday, Mick dropped his bag,
stared at me with eyes like
ice. ‘I’ve met somebody else…’ he
said. What? ‘
And she’s my age’, he spat.
It’
s a joke. He’
ll laugh now.
But when he didn’t, I looked down at
my hands. They were trembling like an old
lady’s. An
old lady. Oh, God – was that how he saw me?
‘But I thought we were happy
together’, I sobbed. He just
shrugged and left.
All I did for those next days was
cry. Pat
tried to console me. I’d been so smug about my
toyboy. Now
I’d been dumped
Then, after five weeks, Mick came to
see Robert. He
seemed different, shy. ‘I did love you,’ he said. ‘But I have
to be with her’. Mick was
fingering a gold St Christopher
medallion round his neck. A
present from her? When he left, I hurried to the
bathroom to splash water on my face,
wash away my tears. But as I stared into the mirror, I saw
my reflection – all grey with saggy
skin and puffy
eyes
.
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I pictured Mick’s dolly
bird – smooth-skinned,
pert, glowing. I
couldn’t stand it, I
needed to see what she had
that I didn’t.
I discovered her name –
Barbara Witham – and got a
private detective to find
out where she and Mick
were living.
Then I was hammering on
the door of their love
nest in Chingford,
Essex.
Barbara opened it, I
stared at her, stunned.
She was ordinary. Younger than me,
yes. But prettier?
I didn't think
so.
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'Why did you steal my husband?' I
cried. 'Couldn't get your own
man?' The door slammed in my
face and all my anger drained away.
What did it matter what she
looked like? Mick prefered her.
I slunk home, desperate to put
it all behind me.
Only, Mick kept popping round to see
Robert - and I couldn't stop clinging
to the hope he'd come back for good.
When he'd been gone six months,
I heard Barbara was having his baby.
I crumpled - that was the one
thing I hadn't been able to give him.
Because I was dried up like a
bundle of old twigs, had wrinkles on
top of wrinkles.
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Then, flicking through a magazine, an
article made me freeze. It was
about a woman who'd had a facelift in
South Africa. The 'before'
picture showed her with a dangling
turkey neck just like mine. But
the 'after' - wow!
Suddenly I realised that, with a few
nips and tucks, I could win Mick back.
I compiled my shopping list -
smaller nose, fuller lips, no wrinkles
- and made arrangements. It
would all cost £4,500. But Mick
was worth it.
Wayne, my eldest, gave me the money.
Two months later, I was on my
way to Johannesburg.
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I had the 2 hour op, 3 days on.
My eyes were taped shut for 48
hours. Then finally, the
bandages came off. My face was
swollen, bruised - but the wrinkles
were gone. I looked 15 years younger - and
ready for all out war! I spent 3 weeks recovering at my
hotel then flew to London.
Letting myself into Pat's house,
I jumped - Mick was sitting there.
Why are you here? I
gasped. But he was staring.
'your face', he said what have you
done? I felt awkward.
There was still some bruising.
I'd wanted to look great when I
finally saw him. 'I've had some
work done', I said. But as I
began to explain, I stopped. I
looked at him there, slobbed out.
Who did he think he was?
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It was as if blinkers had fallen
from my eyes along with the bandages.
I'd spent two and a half years
pining for a man who'd treated me
like dirt. and the feeling that
rose up wasn't just anger, it was
pride.
Once my bruises were gone, I'd have a
perfect, younger face. Too
perfect for Mick.
'I'd
like you to go' I said.
'
now'.
Mick looked shocked.
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And
as the door shut behind him, I
tingled. I was the winner - And
boy, did it feel good.
Six months on, I'm dating a man of
45. I havn't seen Mick since.
He's still with Barbara.
Good
luck to them. Thanks to
their betrayal, and my new face, I'm a
confident, very happy me.
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