One of my colleagues today marched in to my office horrified telling me she just found out that two mid-20-something friends from southern California got plastic surgery. One got a boob job, the other a nose job.

The rub? Apparently Friend A had perfect boobs, and Friend B an adorable nose. And everyone agreed.

Now I’m not inherently “against” plastic surgery. And in no way will I promise I won’t ever get a wrinkle “taken care of,” but I do think we have taken this whole adjust-our-beauty thing a kind of far.

Friends, I just want you to know that I love your imperfections – and I try to love mine. I love your stringy hair, your connected ear lobes, your big rears, your shorty short heights, your man-ish hands, your short waists and long torsos, your post-baby hips, your oddly small feet, and your narrow shoulders. I love them all, because they are yours – and I hope you never change them!

If we all had perfect little schnozzes, and perfect little rears, and perfect little everythings… how would we even know each other apart?