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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on February 11th, 2014, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 14, Issue 49 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 14, Issue 49

The Wonder boob(s)

Krider and his wife get an upgrade, free of charge

By ROB KRIDER


These days, with CGI and other special effects, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. A lot of things in society appear to be one thing, but in reality they are something else completely. Take my wife’s breasts for example. They look great, feel great, and cost me a great deal of money.  Hey, now, don’t be a hater. It wasn’t my idea she received breast augmentation (although I can’t say I was opposed to the notion.) She was the one who decided she wanted to get plastic surgery. I had nothing to do with it, other than paying for it (and bragging to all of my friends about it).

My wife, whom I love, has been “enhanced” now for about 10 years. Life has been good, and, so far, I have been able to stay clear of a very ugly statistic regarding boob jobs and marriages—married women who get the surgery are usually divorced within five years. This is an alarming statistic since 50 percent of marriages already end in divorce. Once you tack on the breast augmentation factor, you lose another large percentage. I’m just lucky she and her curvy body have stuck with me. I couldn’t bear to think of her leaving me for another man—and then that man playing with my money.  That wouldn’t be fair, and it’s the real reason there is a 10-day waiting period (think cooling off period) for purchasing a firearm. 

Fortunately for me, she has stuck around. Unfortunately for my wife (and my wallet), she woke up last weekend and found that one of her implants had begun to leak internally. This meant she was a 38DD on the right side and a 38A on the left. This makes bra shopping very challenging.  She had saline implants (as opposed to silicon), so the leak wasn’t a medical emergency; it was more of a vanity emergency. Because of the saline, I asked her if she felt a bit salty or maybe very dehydrated. She didn’t think those were very funny questions. Apparently, when you have two different sized breasts, nothing is very funny.

I drove her to her plastic surgeon, and he confirmed what we already knew: She had a flat tire. He asked us if we had purchased an extended warranty on the implants. I didn’t even know they sold extended warranties on boobs. I’ve heard of these sorts of things for trucks or flat screen TVs, but I didn’t think there were enough moving parts in a breast implant to require a warranty. Obviously, I was wrong. If we had bought the warranty, it would have saved us thousands of dollars—buyer beware.

The reason we didn’t buy the warranty was probably because when the doctor was trying to upsell me on a warranty plan, I was seeing my wife for the first time after the initial surgery. I didn’t hear a word he was saying to me. I was just staring at my wife’s chest and was in some sort of trance, “booooooobs … booooooobs!” I didn’t get any warranty information.

While examining my wife’s deflated boob, the doctor explained our options and asked what we wanted to do. Our first option was to remove both implants altogether. That option was not an option. Our second option was to replace the leaky implant. That option meant that she would have a brand-new implant on one side and a used implant with about 60,000 miles on the other side. That didn’t sound like a good plan. The third option was to replace both implants and … wait for it… upgrade at no additional price!

To me, this was a no-brainer decision. Free upgrade? How could we pass that up? If I was buying a Camaro and they wanted to give me an additional 200 horsepower at no additional cost, I would totally take it. If McDonald’s would supersize for free, who wouldn’t want extra fries? I was like a kid in a candy store: “Yeah! Give me more, give me more!”

My wife wasn’t as enthused about the free upgrade. She asked me, “Didn’t you like the way I looked before?”

"Yes, I thought you looked great, baby.”

"Then why do you want me to make them bigger?”

“I don’t want them any bigger. It’s just that the upgrade is free. I just feel like if you have to go under the knife again and go through all of that recovery, we might as well get a free upgrade for the extra effort.”

“So you don’t want them bigger for my shape, you just want them bigger because it’s free.”

“Yeah, duh. The man said it’s free.”

“Fine. You tell the doctor what you want. I don’t really care.”

“Baby, it’s what you want. Whatever you want, as long as we get the upgrade, because the upgrade is free.”

“Whatever.”

We were having this conversation right in front of the doctor. He looked at me and asked, “So, what are we going to do?”

I laid it all out for him, “Doctor, during the first surgery, you installed a set of 550 cc implants. I would like to upgrade those to an additional 55 cc each for a total of 605 cc per implant. And, yes, I would like the warranty.”

My wife looked at me in total shock. “How could you possibly remember the exact size of my implants from 10 years ago?”

“Honey, I’m a man. I know stuff. How many times did the Giants win the World Series? Seven: five in New York, and two in San Francisco. How much horsepower did the Chevrolet Corvette Z06 come with in 2006? Exactly 505 horsepower. What size are my wife’s breast implants? They were 550 cc at the first surgery, and are soon to be 605 cc.”

The doctor looked at my wife’s chart and nodded his head, “He’s correct: I placed 550 cc implants in during your first surgery.”

My wife rolled her eyes, “This is the same man who can’t remember where the hamper is in our bedroom. Fine. Give me the big ones. I guess free is free.”

I high-fived the doctor. God bless America, the land of the free.

Rob hasn’t looked his wife in the eyes in 10 years. Contact him through the executive editor at rmiller@santamariasun.com.

 




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