From last weekend's New York Times Weddings section, the first two paragraphs of this celebration brought about much banging of head to desk.

There are many ways for a man to prove his commitment to his fiancée: diamond rings, love poetry, the occasional tattoo. One of the most sincere, and certainly the most painful, is going through a religious conversion involving circumcision. But when Claude Brodesser, the son of Roman Catholic immigrants from Germany, proposed to Taffy Akner, an Orthodox Jew, he had no doubt about what he had to do.

"There's no way she wasn't going to marry a Jew," Mr. Brodesser said of the conversion he made last year. And what of his visit to the mohel who did the circumcision? "It didn't tickle," he said. Ms. Akner, 30, recalled, "He was drugged, but the amount of Xanax I was on rivaled it."

I don't care about Mr. Brodesser getting circumcised any more than I care about the weather in Montana today. He's happy, good for him. And he's an adult making what I presume is an informed decision. Happy, happy, joy, joy all around. Personal consent is all I'll ever expect from the American policy regarding circumcision.

Ms. Akner's comment is indicative of many comments I've read surrounding circumcision. Unlike this example, it's usually from hysterical mothers who can't bear the thought of what they're doing to their sons. Somehow, no one ever seems to intervene before the circumcision takes place, even though the inevitable emotional trauma that requires Xanax is easy to foresee. With Ms. Akner's comment, I'm mostly perplexed. There's always another way, but she and Mr. Brodesser are adults. I wish them well.

With such comments from mothers, or the pre-birth "I hope we have a girl" from religious and non-religious parents alike, though, I'm always angry. The boy hasn't consented. His screams should indicate that he wouldn't consent. The mother's trauma should indicate that she's "ambivalent" about the procedure, despite what she's been told. She knows it's a terrible thing, but she doesn't have the courage to stop it. It doesn't make sense to me. I hope it never does.