A British woman died recently, after buttock-enhancement surgery went bad. The surgery was performed in her Philadelphia hotel room, where (per 9MSN) she "was injected with industrial sealant instead of the more expensive silicone normally used in legal breast enlargements."
So, yes, the evil red devil on one shoulder is laughing maniacally about this. One more triumph for the gene pool, and so forth. Because, honestly, did a hotel room seem like the right place? Or hardware-store glue the right tool?
But there is also a little glowing angel on our other shoulder, giving us a dirty look and telling us to take this seriously. Which we should, and here's why:
The woman died in agony, hours after the "surgery," when the silicone found its way into her vascular system. Died in agony. And why? Because she wanted to be in a music video, but was rejected because her bottom wasn't big enough. So, according to friends, her confidence plummeted; she started wearing padded pants. And then this.
We desperately wish that we lived in a world where people, and especially women, understood that there are all kinds of beautiful. That God never meant for us to all look the same. And that you can't, or rather mustn't, let some idiot with a camera make you think otherwise.
Years ago, a friend of ours -- a young man, and by no means the sharpest tack in the bulletin board -- pursued a career in modeling. He was tall, and had regular (if unremarkable) features. He was a bit on the slender side, though, and this proved to be an obstacle. The last time we saw him, he explained to us that an agent told him he might have a future -- if he allowed a surgeon to cut open his chest, crack his ribs and spread them so that they grew back more widely spaced. We were appalled, but he described it with almost philosophical abstraction.
We hope he's okay. And we hope that if he did find a surgeon, it wasn't some butcher in a hotel room using a band saw.