Because everyone is, inexplicably, going overboard on the former Bruce Jenner sex change business, it’s just not worth writing about, except to say that in matters like this, I subscribe to the philosophy put forth in an old Frank Perdue commercial: Parts is parts and Jenner didn’t want the nuggets.
That’s how I see it, since I don’t care what anyone does as long as they don’t do it to me. As far as I’m concerned, he could have the pope’s nose (that’s slang for the chicken part that went over the fence last) attached to his forehead as a conversation piece and it wouldn’t bother me.
What I don’t get, though, are all the expressions of admiration for him or her having the courage to undergo this operation. I have known many guys who have said they would happily give up a part of a part, as it were, in exchange for the kind of money she’s going to make off this.
This is just an aside, but why is it that when guys say things of this nature it always involves giving up something on the left? You never hear anyone say, “Man, I’d give my right … for that!”
It’s some kind of discrimination against lefties, which I believe should be brought to the forefront of public discussion, since we have pretty much covered every other kind of insensitivity these last few years.
I know I’m treading on dangerous ground here and risk offending any number of people, and not just the ones who don’t care for conversations about body parts, except, of course, until they reach the age when they can and do complain in great detail about which ones no longer operate according to the original factory settings.
We all have experienced that, such as when you’re in a social setting and suddenly the conversation lurches from sports, politics or something equally routine to a complete medical rundown on why a person’s zootiepottamus has become zootless. Or, perhaps, zoots when it should not.
But back to being offensive: I also might run afoul of those who read this and conclude that I am making light of a serious situation, when the fact is more people than we realize are, shall we say, mispackaged at birth.
I am not making fun of these people. And why is that again? It’s because I absolutely do not care what anyone does to his or her body, and that includes trading it in for a different model.
Besides, surgery of any kind can’t be what you would call an enjoyable experience, because, as I understand it, being operated on hurts.
All I know is that I got unlimited ice cream when I had my tonsils out, so I can only assume that operations as involved as these are would require an entire dairy farm. So, yes, those who undergo it are courageous in that regard.
At the same time, however, we have reached a level in our medical and surgical expertise where anyone can be or have anything they want if they have enough money.
For all I know, you could turn yourself into a human Swiss Army knife, with an attachment suitable for every occasion.
“So,” the doctor says, “would you also like a screwdriver?”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick to the ice cream.”