|
||
You're just finishing high school, but you already have some ideas of what you'd like to do with your life. You told your parents that you had everything all figured out, and you were met by of "Great, son!" from your dad and "You're a teenager, you don't know what you want" from your mom. Well, look our world, because you're going to be taking the surgery profession by storm!
Specifically, you want to become a cosmetic surgeon. When you told your guidance counselor, she said, "Great, then maybe you'll be able to do something about my chins!" She might or might not have been joking – you don't care. You know that someday you'll become the world's best cosmetic surgeon.
In the cafeteria one day, your friends want to know how in heck, out of all the careers out there, you decided to be a cosmetic surgeon. You explain that it's simple, and point to Mary Jo, sitting all by herself. You ask your friends what they see over there. They respond that all they see is overweight, acne-ridden Mary Jo.
You confidently respond that that's not what you see. You see a field of possibility. Your friends then start making crude jokes. Typical, you think – how could these mere boys understand my vision? You make them shut up and say that by the time you become a cosmetic surgeon and take poor Mary Jo under your scalpel-clad wing, they would totally want to sleep with her.
They stop laughing and stare at you in awe. Then one of them pipes up and asks how you could possibly stand all the blood and stuff. You say that they are but barricades to be jumped over – your goal is to make as many people perfectly beautiful as possible.
You point at another girl, Janey, who's considered the hottest girl in the 11th grade. Your friends ask what you could possibly need to fix on her. You point out that her nose is a little bit too wide for her face. There's nothing like a little rhinoplasty to remedy an otherwise lovely face!
Your friends smirk, but you get the distinct impression they are starting to realize that yes, you do actually take this seriously. Then another friend asks you if you'd have enough patience to sit through long hours of medical school – especially when you can barely sit through Mrs. Derrick's English class. You just shake your head and say that, once immersed in your craft, the hours will fly by.
Of course, there will be perks to the job as well. You think of all the money you'll make, and picture yourself with a perfect-looking woman (you made her that beautiful, of course). Then of course, there are the cars, the mansions, and the "Surgeon of the Year" award.
You awake from your reverie, and realize that during your daydream your friends poured ketchup in your lap. No problem, you'll be able to fix that, just like you'll be able to fix their faces.