If Vickie Lester wrote 50 Shades… “I exfoliate, hard.”

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I run my fingers through my silver locks, avoiding the mirror. Damn my reflection – time just won’t behave, and damn sun-kissed California and gravity for subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be slimming for the Academy Awards, which are next week, yet here I am contemplating a crème brûlée. I must not eat. I must not eat. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt, once more — the high priestess of my conscience finally dominant — to shut the refrigerator door. My eyes fix on the reflection in the Thermador Side by Side, my neck betraying my artfully constructed image, and give up. My only option is to visit a gifted surgeon, or pray for Photoshop…




    I think you’re up to something. Given that the oeuvre in question is a fanfiction, what is better than a vicky-ed/wicked parody of the latter?

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