While attending a recent function at a libations facility (what we used to call in the old days “a bar”), I noticed a young woman who wanted to be noticed.
It’s just one more indication that I’m getting old, because instead of taking notice because of her large breasts and thinking “Wow, those are large breasts,” I noticed and thought “You know, she could have put that $5,000 to much better use.”
I’m sure you’ve encountered these women before, the kind that somehow managed to get their hands on five grand and decided that stocks and bonds weren’t nearly as valuable an investment as a good set of implants.
Usually, as in this case, it’s someone who was already attractive but felt that God’s handiwork just wasn’t quite good enough.
Like Dennis Miller, I’m always amused when someone has this procedure done, then gets that surprised look on their face when the Surgeon General suggests that maybe filling an important body part with the same substance used to grout the tile in your bathroom isn’t such a great idea.
Some of the more sophisticated women with money to burn and time on their hands often purchase that particular procedure the way some people buy new cars.
They don’t really need it, but they have to keep up with the Joneses. Or the Andersons. Or the Spearses.
Then you have those like the one in question, who make the purchase then want to drive around town with their new "Corvettes" so everyone will notice them.
I began to think about all the things this individual could have put that money toward which would have given her better dividends.
For example, the money could have been better spent on an English language tutor.
With just a few short lessons, “Iuntnuthrbeeeer” could actually sound like “I want another beer.”
(Did you ever notice that the people who use the word “Iuntnuthrbeeeer” are usually the ones who need another beer the least?)
Wardrobe would have been another more reasonable expenditure.
The woman in question could have bought a couple dozen t-shirts that said “Look at me!” in 24-inch letters and still had enough left over for those English lessons while producing the same result as the implant option.
Speaking of lessons, dance lessons might have come in handy.
One of the unfortunate by-products of this particular body enhancement is that it makes it nearly impossible to slow-dance with someone without looking like you’ve invoked the “book rule.”
The “book rule” is one that used to be imposed at school and church dances, where proctors who felt boys and girls were dancing too close would take a thick-tomed book and place it between the couple with the admonition “no closer than this.”
The difference is that in this case, the book is replaced by silicone.
Then of course is the alternative of taking those five g’s and putting them toward a college degree.
Not a four-year university diploma, mind you, but five thou can get you a pretty decent AA degree from a community college.
Unless your name is “Bambi” or “Blaze,” a certificate in dental hygiene is probably going to earn you more money than some new appendages that will soon have their own nicknames.
Fewer dates, maybe, but more cash.
Personally, my favorite nickname for fake bazoombas is “fire hydrants.”
There is an obvious similarity in shape.
But more importantly, like real fire hydrants, their biggest attribute is the number of dogs that inevitably will come sniffing around.
You would think that a man my age would have an appreciation for artificial breasts.
But like I said, I’m getting old, and staring down the barrel of a future that will probably involve an artificial hip, artificial knees, and artificial heart valves somehow makes the idea of one more artificial body part much less appealing.
Yes, even that one.