As strange as it may sound, more and more female high school grads are passing on the car and going for cosmetic surgery -- boob jobs in particular, according to The New York Post Online Edition. Parents are forking out the dough so their daughters can be more fully equipped when they enter college for that MRS degree. It's considerably cheaper than a car in the beginning. But as those silicone or saline implants age from the everyday bra squeeze and constant handling of newfangled admirers, they will sooner than later require specialized maintenance.
No one ever thinks about that; you get a boob job and that's it. And what about the car? Many consumers purchase a vehicle and clearly consider the costs of gasoline, oil changes, breaks, and tires. Car maintenance is a given simply because we are well saturated within car culture. Everyone knows that tires and breaks have to be replaced. But boob jobs? I certainly never had considered it. But really -- what if the implants deflate like a tire with a slow leak? Or worse, suffer a major rupture like those Firestone tires? And how long are they good for? And can you buy a warranty? How many surgeries is one likely to endure in order to maintain the look she, or in some cases he, went in for initially? What if you decide you no longer want the implants? You just can't auction them off on Ebay like a convertible. And what in the world will the real boobs look like after removal? Are we on our way to a well-molded plastic culture as well?
So many questions. Not long ago, I had heard from a nurse, who assists in boob jobs, that sometimes boobs just don't come out right. I suppose that was the rationale behind the surgery to begin with. I can hear the patient now, "Doctor, they just don't look right; they need to be bigger." Well if bigger is all you ask for, then I suppose that's all you'll get. You'll have to pay more in order to ensure proper proportion. I guess this could open a whole new avenue for insurance, much like the outrageous car insurance all drivers must pay into.
I know it sounds cynical, but cosmetic surgery is big business that plays off our physical, emotional, and sexual insecurities. It's a shame really that so many individuals feel the need to wrap themselves in plastic to live with themselves. They should visit a swing club; those insecurities would melt just like the plastic.
But then, I really shouldn't concern myself with the well-being of those that seek cosmetic surgery. I just don't want to have sex with it -- plastic that is, even if it is post-modern. Don't for once think that we swingers can't tell the difference, because we can.
Here's an example: I was at a party in Denton, Texas about a decade ago, and this girl comes up to me and says, "Wow, you've got big boobs!" And I say, "I'm a C. That's not so big." And she responds with, "Well yours are about as big as mine." And I say, "Well I guess so." And then she lets it out, "I just got a boob job last week." My eyes widened as I set down my beer and asked, "Really…can I touch them?" And she says, "Sure." So here I am, 3000 miles from home, in the kitchen with this girl I just met, and I'm feeling her up. Then her boyfriend saunters in and adds, "They're cool, huh?" Since I didn't want to hurt the girl's feelings, I said, "Sure." Though I was thinking, "If you're into that sort of thing."
I've come to the position that boob jobs are just a postmodern fetish -- kind of like masturbating to the images of female cartoon characters, e.g. Tomb Raider's Laura Kroft. So why not reserve a special dating site for augmented individuals and create a special category for those with voluntary boob jobs? Then we'd all know what we were getting ourselves wrapped up in.
