Tuesday, 6 September 2011

BEAUTY IS IN THE HANDS OF THE PLASTIC SURGEON

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, so says an old proverb. As these adages are alleged to come from the old and wise, I wonder just what circumstances surrounded the creation of this one. Maybe, long ago (when loin cloth was in fashion) some perverted ancestors were seated at a jobless corner drooling at young damsels. Ridden with age related sexual dysfunctions, all they could do was ogle as these lasses flaunted their glutei then gossip amongst themselves. Heated arguments sometimes ensued as to which girl defined beauty as varied opinions came up. The wisest pervert therefore decided to coin that saying to permanently contain these conflicts.

As time elapsed the beholder became the beer holder; with alcohol tweaking his system, every being became beautiful. He however realized that alcohol alone could not be relied upon as an inducer of beauty. There was a need for salons, beauty consultants and what not. With these in place, people have gone to lengths to look beautiful. Advancements in medicine and technology have also redefined the beautifying process. Natural beauty is good, so is any reasonable preservation and enhancement of it. It however gets comical sometimes when we make photoshoping a real life ordeal and take it too far. Reality photoshoping is the process of manufacturing an Angelina Jolie from a mboch in Kapsokwach (nothing against mboches). I ‘blame’ it all on one fellow:

Enter the plastic surgeon: perhaps one of the most outstanding creations of modern medicine. With just a scalpel, an array of surgical materials including hammers, screws, saws, silicone and bone cement and presto! An instant beauty is borne from beast. Many are fond of visiting him just for that particular detail of their anatomy they don’t quite fancy. They are willing to pay dearly to have it nipped, tucked, liposuctioned or even lifted away. Others need implants to enhance their physique sometimes to ridiculous proportions. That leaves beauty squarely in the hands of the plastic surgeon. He will readily pump loads of botox and silicone into anyone feeling anatomically deficient, provided you pay.

The show doesn’t stop there. The plastic surgeon is bound to meet some bizarre characters along his profession. Take the case of Nileen Namita, a 49 year old lady who for twenty years endured 51 plastic surgeries to her face only. Her justification; she dreamt she was the reincarnation of the Queen Neferiti, a long dead Egyptian woman of exquisite beauty. Later on, a psychologist diagnosed her dream to be indeed ‘true’ (sigh, the things some doctors do for money). So she set out to her ‘purpose in life’, becoming a living embodiment of Neferiti. The ordeal has cost her a whooping € 200,000. If only she had gone back to sleep before this and dreamt of more sensible things to pursue. And I do not know much about plastic surgery, but when you start to look frightened, isn't it high time you stopped?

This brings me to some sick joke I overheard. A woman was introduced to this procedure called ‘The Knob’ by her cosmetic surgeon. The surgeon fixed a knob on her head that she was supposed to turn every time she felt she needed a face lift. This worked well until years later the woman returned to her surgeon. ‘Look doctor, your treatment has stopped working. Even when I turn the knob, these bags under my eyes won’t disappear’. ‘Those are not bags ma’am,’ replied the surgeon, ‘they are your breasts. And if you keep turning that knob, you will end up with a goatee’

In related news, when I grow up I might be a plastic surgeon.
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