Thinking of mucking about with nature

“Why won’t you let me do it?”

What I really, really, really want – and you should want me to have it too is... a boob job

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer... because what?”

“Just because.”

“Shirley’s had it and she looks altogether different.”

“She certainly does that. And I have never seen anything so grotesque.”

“Grotesque? All she had done was have a little Botox injected into her lips.”

“A little Botox? She’s ended up looking like Mick Jagger in drag!”

“Don’t be ridiculous; anyway, I only need a teeny-weeny bit of filler in my lips... and over my eyes... and perhaps to fluff up my cheekbones. That’s after the facelift, of course... oh, and the nose job.”

“Oh yeah, and how much is that lot going to cost?”

“I’ve done the maths and it needn’t cost an arm and a leg.”

“Just a nose and a wrinkle.”

“Not even.”

“You mean you can get it done for free at Mater Dei?”

“Er... not exactly, but like I say... it needn’t break us.”

“How much?”

“Shirley had hers done by some Mongolian plastic surgeon and she said she was amazed at how reasonable it was.”

“I repeat... How much?”

“I’ll have to check.”

“That means too much.”

“No it doesn’t... and while I’m checking, I’ll get a price for the full package.”

“Full package?”

“Yeah, facelift, Botox, nose job, tummy tuck... ”

“Tummy tuck? What on earth is that?”

“A tummy tuck or abdo­minoplasty is a procedure whereby an incision is made into my tummy, excess fat is drawn off, a flap of tummy skin is removed and the whole lot stitched back up. Hey presto! I get a nice flat Penelope Cruz tummy... again.”

“What do you mean, ‘again’? You’ve always been fa- er... shall we say... chubby.”

“Which is why I need the tummy tuck... and the rest of it.”

“Well I suppose if you did get a tummy... whatsit, you could always send the flap of skin to a tannery and then get someone to make it up into an overcoat... and still have enough left over to make a pair of boots.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me do it then?”

“No.”

“You are a mean, self-centred b*****d. I still haven’t forgiven you for not letting our only daughter Sweetie get a discreet tattoo done.”

“You call a depiction of the Batman logo all across her back a discreet tattoo?”

“I’ll tell you what I really, really want – and believe me you cannot – if you love me – say no to this.”

“Wanna bet, but OK go on, amaze me.”

“What I really, really, really want – and you should want me to have it too is... a boob job.”

“Really – and what exactly is a boob job?”

“Well... we’re agreed that neither of us is as young and beautiful as we once were, right?”

“Sweetheart, as statements of the obvious that is right up there with Paul McCartney is way past his sell-by date. But go on.”

“I quite like Paul McCartney. No, what I mean is... by the time we get to our age, our, well... dangly bits start to, you know... droop a bit.”

“You speak for yourself.”

“So a little bit of boob surgery can perk them up a bit... you know, lift them.”

“Ha! The only thing that could lift your boobs is a fork-lift truck. The answer’s still no.”

“OK, forget everything I’ve said about facelifts, boob and nose jobs, Botox and so on, but at least let me have liposuction.”

“Lipo what?”

“It’s a process whereby they stick a vacuum tube in you and suck out all your excess fat. You can’t say no to that.”

“I can and I do. My God! If they siphoned all your excess fat off, they’d have enough to keep all the deep fryers in Malta going for a year or more... NO.”

“So you don’t want me to look young and glamorous again, is that it?”

“Got it in one. I’m sort of used to you looking like you do.”

“Fat and ugly.”

“Yeah; that way other men aren’t going to look at you, so I get you to myself, if and when I do.”

“Selfish b*****d.”

“Guilty as charged.”