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My face was messed up. I wanted to stop the sagging, tighten my face a bit. And maybe Botox my skinny lips. The plastic surgeon assured me he could help, but he blew it. Big time.

He made my face hideous which was a whole lot worse than just old. I knew that wasn’t good. People judge you based on how you look.

Fortunately, my normally good-for-nothing husband was tinkering around in the garage (as he often does) and managed to cobble together a time machine. It wasn’t a great time machine (Lou’s a dabbler), but sending me back a few months would be good enough.

I got a better plastic surgeon. Someone who could do it right. But I got to thinking. After a few years my face would start to sag again and my lips would thin out. What’s the point? And do I really want to be judged on my looks?

I came to the conclusion that I didn’t care what other people thought. Anonymous. That’s what I wanted to be. So, I had the work done differently.

Lou recently improved his time machine. (Does the word “recently” even apply here?) He went back a bunch of years and—to make a long story short—we were never married.

As for me, well, if you’re ever walking in the suburbs and see a woman wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, that’ll be me. Only it isn’t a mask.