My Beautiful Mommy

A plastic surgeon in Florida has penned a children's book to help explain the effects of plastic surgery to young 'uns:

"My Beautiful Mommy" is aimed at kids ages four to seven and features a plastic surgeon named Dr. Michael (a musclebound superhero type) and a girl whose mother gets a tummy tuck, a nose job and breast implants. Before her surgery the mom explains that she is getting a smaller tummy: "You see, as I got older, my body stretched and I couldn't fit into my clothes anymore. Dr. Michael is going to help fix that and make me feel better." Mom comes home looking like a slightly bruised Barbie doll with demure bandages on her nose and around her waist.

The text doesn't mention the breast augmentation, but the illustrations intentionally show Mom's breasts to be fuller and higher. "I tried to skirt that issue in the text itself," says Salzhauer. "The tummy lends itself to an easy explanation to the children: extra skin and can't fit into your clothes. The breasts might be a stretch for a six-year-old."

The book doesn't explain exactly why the mother is redoing her nose post-pregnancy. Nonetheless, Mom reassures her little girl that the new nose won't just look "different, my dear—prettier!"

I love how the surgeon has made himself to be some chiselled Greek god in the book.

I won't judge women who resort to plastic surgery -- it's a personal choice, albeit one that requires a certain amount of risk and quite a lot of money. But I do wonder about the message mothers who frequently undergo plastic surgery send to their daughters. It is one thing to have the odd nip and tuck when you're middle-aged and saggy, quite another when you're swapping implants every five years. You could end up with a daughter who wants a boob job for her thirteenth birthday.

Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.

Frances McDormand, Amy Adams and Shirley Henderson in the movie version.

Before heading to a party, the dowdy governess Miss Pettigrew gets a makeover from actress Delysia LaFosse's beauty parlour-owning friend, Edythe Dubarry:

Miss Pettigrew stared. She caught the back of a chair for support. She felt faint. Another woman stood there. A woman of fashion: poised, sophisticated, finished, fastidiously elegant. A woman of no age. Obviously not young. Obviously not old. Who would care about age? No one. Not in a woman of that charming exterior. The rich, black velvet of the gown was of so deep and lustrous a sheen it glowed like colour. An artist had created it. It had the wicked, brilliant cut that made its wearer look both daring and chaste. It intrigued the beholder. He had to discover which. Its severe lines made her look taller. The ear-rings made her look just a little, well, experienced. No other word. The necklace gave her elegance. She, Miss Pettigrew, elegant.

The delicate flush! Was it natural? Who could tell? That loosely curling hair! No ends, no wisps, no lank drooping. Was it her own? She didn't recognize it. Those eyes, so much more blue than memory recalled! Those artfully shaded brows and lashes! That mouth, with its faint, provocative redness! Was it coloured? Only by kissing it would a man find a satisfactory answer.

She smiled. The woman smiled back, assured, composed. Where was the meek carriage, the deprecating smile, the timid shyness, the dowdy figure, the ugly hair, the sallow complexion? Gone. Gone under the magic of 'Du Barry's' expert owner and manager.

Miss Pettigrew, rapt, thrilled, transported, gazed at herself as her dreams had painted her. A lump came into her throat. Her eyes became misty.

'Guinevere,' screamed Miss Dubarry in a panic. 'For God's sake, control yourself.'

'Guinevere,' gasped Miss LaFosse. 'Control, I implore you. Your make-up. Remember your duty to your make-up.'

-- Miss Pettigrew Lives for A Day, Persephone Books, P. 98 - 99