That Pretty Much Covers It

(My mother is in her sixties, and while not incredibly vain, she can’t help but be a little interested in various plastic surgical procedures. Since she has gotten to know a plastic surgeon through the ballroom dance club she helps run with my dad, she goes to his office one day for a consultation. I happen to call her the afternoon after her appointment. Also note that my three siblings and I were all born via medically necessary C-sections, and my mom is ten years in remission for a mild form of lymphoma.)

Me: “So, how did it go?”

Mother: “It was fine. But I have to tell you, I don’t think this is for me.”

Me: “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Mother: “Probably the fact that I’m not in the mood to have a more extensive medical procedure just to look pretty than I did to beat cancer or have four children!”

(I have no problem with anyone who chooses to have plastic surgery — it’s your body, after all — but I couldn’t fault my mom’s rationale, and it did make me laugh. Just one of the many reasons I love this lady so much!)