When plastic isn’t all that fantastic

I just learned the other day that my mother-in-law is getting some work done, and we’re not talking interior decorating.

Now I think the less said about that the better. I’m fairly sure that my mother-in-law doesn’t read this column, but I’m equally confident nothing good can come from me wandering down this track.

Still it did get me thinking. While on the whole I’m not really a fan of plastic surgery I have come to the conclusion that I’m probably overdue for a few renovations.

I think the most obvious place to start would be a nose job.

I broke my nose when I was eight.

It was always destined to be large but it might have at least been straight if I hadn’t taken a cricket bat square to the bridge from a over-enthusiastic backswing.

So now it looks like one of those rocky crags mountain bikers drop off.

I could ask for a ski-jump, long, straight with a good take-off at the tip. But I’d settle for straight.

Then there’s my teeth. White teeth would be good. Dazzling white. Luminescent even, like two rows of LED lights.

I’m not sure what you’d call their current shade – margarine maybe.

And despite two-and-a half years of braces in my teens they now have what artists refer to as line quality. Basically they’re all over the place.

My dentist reassures me if Tom Cruise can still get braces so can I.

But since I have no fond memories of the first time round, I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience.

Besides I have absolutely nothing else in common with Tom Cruise except that we’re both short and braces won’t help that.

Of course, what would straight white teeth and a pointy nose be without full and luscious lips.

I imagine that would require having them pumped full of fat until they start to look like an overinflated liferaft.

This sounds unpleasant. Of course I may also lose all sensation and drool a fair bit, unless I keep them closed.

On the plus side I’ll never say the wrong thing again.

In reality I’m far too miserable to invest in all of this work so it’ll never happen, and that’s OK.

Even if it does mean I’ll never have the sort of face only a mother-in-law could love.