Greetings from Ashton, Connecticut!
I am laying low for a little while after figuring out who the killer was at Bridey’s Spa. My ankle, which was broken, is still stiff and hurts a bit. I’ve been to a plastic surgeon regarding the scars on my face. He will be able to clear up 90% of the damage, he says. So I asked, “What about the other 10%?” And he shrugged and said, “Well, sometimes you have to live with things that you don’t like.”
I’m 25 years old! I don’t want to look like Frankenstein. He assured me it wouldn’t be that bad, and he also said that what was left of the scars would fade over time. He doesn’t know if they will be completely covered by makeup or not.
So now I have to gird my loins and go into battle with my insurance company, which seems to think the surgery will merely be cosmetic and not necessary. The doctor is going to fill out some papers for me. If it gets approved, they’ll cover 80% of the total cost. That still leaves a sizeable chunk of change, but Dad left me pretty well off with his life insurance, so I should be able to afford it.
Gotta run – Eric’s downstairs. He’s taking me to the movies.