Some days I feel like the only thing I'm good at is looking cute.

Some days I feel like I suck at almost everything. My career goals seem the insane dreams of a megalomaniac. My interpersonal skills seem so lame I wonder how I managed to survive so long. My writing stinks. My cooking is terrible. Even my speaking voice seems low and scratchy.

I feel like one of those bimbos on Jay-Walking who is only good at looking cute. Maybe the energy I expend on clothes selection and hair is inversely proportional to how talented I can be in other areas. Something to think about. This whole scenario is of course based on the assumption that I do look cute. If you think otherwise, please don't let me know. If it's really the only thing I'm good at I'd hate to have that last shred snatched out from under me.

Wishing it were Summer

I wish it were summer in Iowa. I wish my fingers would burn when they touch the steering wheel of my car. I wish the heat would hit me like a wall when I step outside. I wish for warm hazy evenings when the sky is purple and pink at 9 p.m. and lightning bugs blink in the fields. I miss summer smells of mown grass and grilling burgers. I miss tank tops and my hair in a permanent ponytail. I wish for hot asphalt that shimmers and mornings so bright the grass looks electric.

Alert: Girl Talk. Don't Read if You Are Embarrassed by the Word Bra

The older I get the more I realize how problematic it is to judge other peoples' actions. We never know when we might be placed in a situation where hard choices have to be made. I bring this up because I've found myself thinking about doing something I never dreamed possible: getting a boob job.

I've always said I thought it was disgusting and unnatural and I'd never do anything like that. I acted as though people who got them were shallow and and ridiculous. How strange it is to find yourself considering something you once laughed at. Truth be told, I won't get one. I don't have that kind of cash. But I find myself wondering what I would do if I had buckets of money at my disposal.

You see, I am flat as a pancake. This fact strongly asserted itself in ballet class where we all wear leotards and and no bras. People say things like a flat chest bother you less as you get older, but I think it actually bothers me more. Maybe I've finally accepted that they won't grow any more on their own.

It's not really a major problem, and it only bothers me occasionally. Keira Knightley is flat, and she's accepted as a bombshell. They painted on her cleavage in Pirates of the Carribean, I was very happy to learn.

Still, I find myself imagining what life would be like if I had an, ahem, alteration. It doesn't seem too bad. And unless you are flat-chested yourself, you shouldn't say boob jobs are always disgusting. You never know who you might be insulting.