Heavens, sometimes we just need a spa day. And, to me a spa day is a day I speak my mind.
Let’s start with breast implants. One Christmas holiday I heard from a newly minted bachelor, who no longer had the duty of trying to warm his silicon enhanced consort, that implants were not only rock solid on a chilly night – they also were disturbingly cold. He actually said it creeped him out when he cuddled up to something akin to “cold dead flesh” – he said he was relieved he no longer had to touch his ex-girlfriend’s “after market parts.”
I nearly blew a “gasket.” Imagine the sad soul the “cold dead flesh” was attached to! And, that’s my gripe. Do you think anybody would elect to have cold, hard, decolletage – heck, we’re not talking just the upper part of the breasts, as in: decolletage – we’re talking the entire rack – would anybody KNOWINGLY choose to give themselves an ICE CHEST.
I think not. I think when a surgeon hands a patient a twenty page disclosure document pre-op that patient might just glance through it. That patient might hand it to their best friend to see if the caring but medically unqualified friend will catch anything in the extraordinarily long text that they should be aware of. When the best friend voices a few misgivings the patient might say something like, “if that was going to happen the doctor would have told me…” Because, that patient is in an industry that applies outrageous cosmetic standards, and they will do nearly anything to maintain them.
Hypothetically speaking.
Venting suspended. The photo above is of the Elizabeth Arden salon in Hollywood, circa 1930. Isn’t it interesting that a place called “The Bachelors” is right next door?