That's what my girlfriend asked, rhetorically, after she'd spoken on the phone with her sister, who'd called yesterday to break the news that she'd had, according to K, "a boob job."

Mostly K was silent on the phone, listening, and I went outside to sit on the porch while they talked. Now and then K would laugh, but with that laugh I know so well that is a laugh of politeness, undermined by a hint of discomfort, a laugh forced out like a cough a doctor might ask for. I felt her muted, confused distress.

I decided not to ask about it; she'd come to me when she decided to talk, and talk she did, a rant that did not surprise me. She was especially bothered - well, offended - by her sister's use of "we" in describing the choice made by the "them" of herself and her husband. As in, "WE weren't sure how big to go. WE discussed...etc." I commented that now they/she/he had the house on the water, the boat...and the new and improved cleavage. I decided to shut up, keep out of it, let K get it out of her system.

The truth is: I 'm Switzerland on this. I have my own inner thoughts/opinions on respecting one's body as is, about not acquiescing to societal pressure to take such measures, about accepting oneself, one's unique totality, Madison (or Melrose) Avenue be damned. I also respect the right to do unto/for oneself as one chooses, for whatever reasons. We live with ourselves until we die.

I dated a young woman back when both of us were in our mid-20's. She had a lean, cross-country runner's body, that I happened to like very much. And I remember my surprise when, the first night we made love, I placed my hands on her breasts and found them unusually hard, as if there were baseballs under her skin. Later she talked about her choice, which included some work done on the point of her chin. She showed me the small scars. Her breasts were still smallish - a wise choice, aesthetically, given her small frame - and she seemed totally unconflicted by her decision.

K is conflicted. She let out a little bit about how she's dealt with her (smallish) breast size for as long as she could remember. How - this was interesting to me - a day didn't go by when she hadn't entertained thoughts about doing the same herself. I said nothing. (Sometimes you just have to listen.) She said plenty of nothing, too, interrupting her own out-loud thinking with periods of silence when she simply shook her head before resuming, at a loss somehow to assimilate this event that clearly had come from left-field to strike a long-lived nerve.

"What is she saying to her daughter?" a poignant question indeed. Personally, I think the son gets some information from this, too.

I have a feeling about this. I have a feeling K is going to chew this thoroughly for a long time, during which she will reintroduce herself to her feminism, her thoughts about her body and the rights/privileges associated with this newly-informed ownership of it. I have advised her to not come down on her sister about it as, for one, what's done is done. And while it is very much like her to have her say at some point, she knows enough to wait awhile. She also knows herself enough to face her own mixed feelings about this, which will be arriving like sets of breakers on her beach.