“So, why DO they call it ‘plastic surgery,’” Richard blurted out to Lola, before he could catch himself and refrain from making yet another foolish inquiry, “there isn’t really much plastic involved, is there?”
Lola looked at him as if looking at a ten-year-old who had just made an impossibly silly faux pas. “I don’t know why they call it ‘plastic surgery.’ Maybe it’s because no one knows what silicon is?”
Realizing now, how embarrassing his outburst had been, Richard’s gaze suddenly fell from Lola’s perfectly ironed white blouse, down along the legs of her fashionably form-fitting blue jeans, down to the carpet below, where his stare came to a humiliating rest. Had he been aware, he would have noticed that the carpet was in need of a thorough cleaning.
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