Queasy Stomach

Last night as I was driving home, a local radio station announced their most recent promotion. Yes, that's right. Some lucky listener will win $10,000 to spend at your friendly plastic surgeon's office. If hearing the promotion hadn't have shocked me so much, I would've pulled off the road and heaved into the grass. It's not often that a little piece of reality will reach up and smack you in the face with such force that you even forget to throw up. OK, so it's nothing new that society is all about looking young, thin, and beautiful. And many networks, shows, and various other media give away makeovers and trips to the spa like candy. But giving away plastic surgery? And you should hear the ad they run on it. "Ladies, want a nip, boob job, tuck, boob job, chin lift, boob job, botox, or boob job?" Etc. It's repellent. If they weren't the only station that plays 3 Doors Down, Live, and Dave Matthews without also playing the non-music that is the Beastie Boys, I would never listen to them again. (Whoever gave the Beastie Boys a record deal needs to be shot - or forced to listen to their "music" for all eternity. I wonder how long it would take him to realize that it all sounds the same?)

Anyone who's been dress-shopping with me realizes that I'm a little self-conscious about a certain area of my bod. I mean, it's really frustrating to put on an outfit that flatters every single other inch of your body, but sags in the front. Junior high as a late bloomer in this area was a real treat. When I broke up with one boyfriend, he slipped an ad for bust enhancement cream in my locker. (He also spread rumors that I was a lesbian. And now we're good friends - go figure.) But in all the years of dealing with this little foible, I never once considered plastic surgery. I didn't buy WonderBras. I didn't even think about strategically placed Kleenex. It took me many years to understand that *I* didn't have to be perfect, but not that long to realize that *my body* would never be perfect. And I got over it (well, that trip into Victoria's Secret when I realized all the salesclerks were ignoring me for the more endowed customers set me back a little).

But the caller I heard win a chance at this prize was very excited about it. Maybe that's because, in addition to getting a chance at the boob job, she also got an "adult gift" and some money for a spa visit. Maybe it's like that very first "Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire" show. The second place prize was a scholarship or something really good - and that's why all the girls jumped at the chance. No one actually wanted to marry the ass they paraded around. They all wanted to be the runner-up. Well, that's what I thought was the deal with that show, but all the other reality shows it spawned and the people they found to be on them really make me wonder.

Well, maybe this really isn't so bad. Maybe all the contestants will have to congregate in one area to do one last contest to win the $10,000 Nip/Tuck Extravaganza. And maybe not all of the women who won a chance will show up. Even if it's just one woman who decides against it, I could still retain some faith in society.