The other day one of my main ladies mentioned how she would like to get a nose job. I was a little confused, as nothing seems inherently wrong with her beak. Sure, it’s more prominent and longer than say, a field mouse’s, but there the striking aspects end. Nothing crooked or aggressively hooked about it, nor wide and illustrious as a joyful potato. Just present, as is tradition.

My initial response was to tell her not to worry. “Your nose is fine, so why change it?”

“Because some people make fun of me.”

Some. Hardly worth redirecting your life and spending $10,000 on the rhino express over, right? I mean, it’s a vanity project directed at other characters, and less so personal happiness.

That’s a wrap, I suppose, of the Hallmark variety. Written and produced by George Santos.

Still, I can’t help but wonder where my own motivations might be sourced. Am I advising her against it strictly because plastic surgery is unnecessary for anything other than severe disfigurement? Do I genuinely reject the vanity polishing popular in our looks-fixated world of Black Pill deniers? Is it some Quixotic mission to boost the fragile female ego in a nice guy’s fashion?

Possibly. On the alternative front, perhaps my schemes are less pure. If she gets the rhino procedure, her looks may indeed be enhanced, thus drawing more attention (and competition) into the mix. I might inadvertently lose something of value by not beseeching an endorsement of the contented pose. Visible elevation could absolutely better her experiences and prospects in life, hence my ulterior motive rises to discourage the surgery, only in supportive and self-righteous terms.

I also might not care one way or the other.

Which Goldberg can be trusted?