Vanity, Vanity.

So I went to a plastic surgeon this week. 

I've had a lot of fun saying that.  And following it up with:  to get my boobs done. 

Reactions have been totally awesome.  Shock, awkward pauses, confusion...and then I tell the truth.  It's so much less exciting. (=   I went to have some moles removed.  Since Kellie is getting married and wants us to wear a short little dress I decided it was time, daggon it, to get the large mole on my right knee removed.  I've had it since I was 12 and I hardly ever wear anything above the knee because I am super self conscious about it. 

So I went.  I sat in the office, and looked at all the ads for Latisse and boobs and nose jobs.  And then I sat in the exam room.  For half an hour.  By myself.  Which raises the question, why do they make you go to the exam room so freaking early?  At least in the waiting room there are magazines.  All I had to look at was a chart on the anatomy of fractures in the hand.  Not that exciting really.  Would rather look at the anatomy of a boob job and decide what I would hypothetically get someday.  Too bad it requires major surgery and thousands of dollars. 

The Dr. eventually showed up and was super nice.  We chatted about where he's from(Boston) what I do for a living, and why the mountains on the East coast are better than the mountains out West.  And just that fast and easy, I can wear short skirts and short things in general. 

Vanity, yes indeed.  But I thought my first and probably last trip to a plastic surgeon was worth documenting.  The only other patient in the room was 80 years old.  I think it was a slow day for boob jobs. (=