Last night as we were eating dinner in front of the television, my roommate casually announced that on Monday she's getting a nose job. I nearly spit out my food. "Are you sure?" I asked, because, after all, it was the first I'd heard of it.

I have never known anyone who has undergone cosmetic surgery before. I mean sure, we all have our own insecurities but I just think it's kind of a big deal to permenantly modify your natural features. I am not against it per se, it just makes me a little uneasy, sort of like the idea of getting a tattoo - you know, yeah, sometimes you think it might be cool, but in the end, you're just not sure you could live with it when you're 70.

What's most surprising is that my roommate has always seemed so... confident. She is a former sorority girl who wears perfectly ironed pants and gets up early to straighten her hair. She makes her bed every morning before work. She has dinner parties for her parents who bring wine as a hostess gift. She has decorated our apartment in a way that one of my friends summed up perfectly when she said, "oh, you have a big girl place!", meaning our living room could be featured in one of those decorating magazines rather than looking like a dorm room. We've got the fake tree, the vase full of sticks, the matching throw pillows, the fresh flowers, and she has never once mentioned any dissatisfaction with her nose.

Besides after haphazardly seeing this one night while flipping through channels and having to literally cover my eyes, the idea of plastic surgery just makes me squeamish. I think I'll just stick with my own face, thanks.   ¶ 4:35 PM