The other day, after my ritual trip to the wilds of eastern Ohio for my thankless, grueling, yet masochistically intriguing job, I was returning home, granted another three coworkers a ride. I was feeling magnanimous. The one chick with us, who shall remain unnamed and incidentally, may no longer be a coworker because of an unfortunate incident of being caught drinking on the job, gave me a new insight on the peculiarty of chicks and, as a corollary, people in general.
Her overriding goal in life is to get a complete plastic surgery makeover, including boobs, lipo, face reconstruction, and whatever else her demented little brain can think up. She related a story how some guy told her she was good-looking enough to hang out with, but she didn't do it for him. Apparantly, that was some kind of life-defining moment that made her determined to become an artificial knockout.
Such an attitude was completely uncomprehensible to the three guys in the car (including me). I can understand if some total 'ho wanted fake boobs to make it in adult movies or some other machiavellian aim, but this chick was simply obsessed with being "wanted". I suppose everybody wants to be wanted, but sweet screaming beans in a piss bucket, you don't have to go neurotic about it.
We eventually figured out why she was that way, though. She told us that her mother stayed home and took care of the home while her father constantly fucked around with a bunch of augmented 'hos. She said she wanted to be one of the people fucked around with, not fucked around on. That pretty much explained everything.
For my own part, I'm the opposite. I would not do anything to change my appearance beyond combing my hair. I figure that my stunning personality and tremendous schlong should more than compensate for my mediocre attractiveness. Furthermore, once I'm apallingly rich, the chicks will mob me. I won't need no plastic surgery, nor would I seriously date a chick who would consider getting it herself.
I'd fuck 'em, but not seriously date 'em.