Things that fall

There are very specific, inherent disadvantages to your friends trying to set you up with a plastic surgeon. And, of course, I imagine that there are also very specific, inherent advantages to actually dating a plastic surgeon.

Yesterday well-intentioned friends took me to a seminar ("Things That Fall"-clever) given by Dr. PS in order to "accidentally" introduce us to one another. It would be a subtle maneuver--they had insisted. Right. OK. Fine. Easy enough, I thought.

WRONG.

I had never been to such an event before and was surprised to find that my friends and I were in a sea of women who were mostly over the age of 70. As I sat there waiting for the good doctor to speak while nibbling on a cream puff,* I couldn't help but wonder if all of these older women had come to the seminar by mistake. Had they ducked into the wrong room? Was there another seminar next door called "Things That Have Fallen (Some Time Ago)?"

At 32, I felt downright perky.

That is, until the obvious groupies started filing in. These women were unarguably beautiful, but their balloon-ish proportions gave them away. They had surely attended such events before. Feeling then a bit deflated, I shoved the rest of the cream puff in my mouth and looked at my friends with a knowing glance: this was going to be tricky.

And it was.

Therefore, in the name of sisterhood for any woman whose friends convince her to attend a plastic surgery seminar with the intention of getting a date with the doctor, I've compiled crib notes on how to navigate the inevitable obstacles and disadvantages of doing so. Before you write off eharmony, or match.com or your elderly aunt's neighbor's granddaughter's lawn boy, take heed, sister:

First, you must find and strike the perfect balance between showing polite interest while he is speaking and exhibiting too much eagerness. If you err on the former side, you're rude, obviously came only for the free cream puffs, and disinterested in his career, which no man wants. If you err on the later side, you're one booked appointment and 10 days of rest and recovery away from being a mere balloon-y groupie.

Second, as Dr. PS gives his power point presentation, realize that pretty quickly you are going to have to become comfortable with the fact that Dr. PS will be working with other women's breasts on a daily basis. In fact, his number one aspiration in life is to make other women's breasts look better than yours. And should the relationship progress to the stage when jewelry is involved, you will always have to wonder just how many 34 Double Ds it took to buy that carat.

Third, at first you may be impressed with the fact that Dr. PS even knows what an areola is, but eventually and in a different context, such as one where overhead fluorescent lights in an auditorium are not involved, this anatomically-correct vocabulary will be downright creepy.

Fourth, you will doubtlessly fall in love with his obvious regard for the beauty of the female body. But then, as you watch the slide show of various Greek statues of naked goddesses and semi-erotic Asian paintings of half-clothed courtesans behind him as he speaks eloquently of symmetry and proportion, a semi-sickening feeling will begin to erupt in your gut. You will realize that never again will you be able to calm yourself down when your jeans don't freaking! fit by saying: You know what, (insert your own name), you are your own worst critic. No one else is going to notice that these jeans are a bit snug...because oh, Dr. PS will notice alright.**

And finally, girls*** I have two words for you: pelvic prolapse.

Prior to my friends' utterly brilliant idea to tow me to this seminar I had never heard of pelvic prolapse. And now my life can be divided into BEFORE knowing about pelvic prolapse and AFTER knowing about pelvic prolapse. I can't go into too much detail here less I dry heave, so you'll have to Google it for yourselves(if you so choose to alter your sense of benevolence and fairness in the world).

I can say that I was fully cognizant of the fact that should I live a long life, certain things will fall. However, my previously naive assumption was that these certain things would only be on the outside of my body, rather than the oh-woe-is-me inside. Egad, ladies! The universe--I tell you--is conspiring against us. First comes the crinkles, then the wrinkles, then the loss of elasticity, and then...pelvic prolapse. Excuse this small melodramatic linguistic breakdown, but I mean, is there no end to it?

I'm telling you this now so that should you find yourself eating a cream puff as an eligible PS slaps a projected map on the wall of certain organs spilling out of a woman's body (while you are just innocently wondering if he is a good kisser), do not do not do not think for one second that the fact that he has the years of education and practical experience to put these organs back where they belong will be a relief to you. It will not. You simply cannot date a man who knows this nauseating truth.

*As an aside in the name of smart consumerism, it should be noted that the auditorium was lined with tables of cookies, candy bars, and cake, and the women in attendance were piling up their plates. Um, hello? Could they not see through this cheap ploy to garner business? Go ahead, ladies, eat up. Have another brownie. Cheesecake is over there. Treat yourselves. Just call my office girl Jill and we can lipo it off next Friday.

**Of course, if you play your cards right and are so inclined, he'll notice and then he'll fix it.

***I'm not usually aiming to be gender specific in these posts, but--sorry boys--there is no way around this one.