The Fantastic Plastic Surgeon (part 6 of The Nose That Nobody Picked)

The next day, Christopher was watching his favourite nature programme on T.V. when he noticed an advert on the back page of his mum’s newspaper.
In big bold letters the advert asked, “DO YOU HAVE A BIG NOSE WITH A WART ON ITS END?”
Christopher got up from the sofa to have a closer look; the advert went on…
“DO YOU HAVE EARS THAT STICK OUT SO MUCH THAT YOU CAN’T FIT THROUGH DOORS?
ARE YOUR TEETH BACK TO FRONT?”
By now Christopher was practically sitting on his mum’s lap. His mum frowned at him over the paper. Christopher read on,
“IF SO, WHY NOT CALL DOCTOR SKINNER? THE FANTASTIC PLASTIC SURGEON.
IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR A NEW FACE THEN HE’S YOUR MAN!”
“Perfect!” shouted Christopher jumping to his feet and running from the room. His mum watched him go, glaring over her glasses.
“Odd boy,” she muttered. She was just about to start reading her paper again when an excited Christopher burst through the door and snatched it away from her.
“What are you doing?” cried Mrs Postlethwaite as Christopher brandished a pair of scissors and began to cut out a large square from the back page. “I was reading that!”
“You can have it back in a minute, I’m just cutting out an advert.”
“What advert?”
Christopher showed his mum the square of paper. She frowned through her glasses “… a big nose with a wart on its end … Doctor Skinner … teeth back to front?”
She looked up at Christopher.
“What an earth do you want this for?”
“Urm … homework!”
“Well, that makes a nice change.”
“Yeah, we have to write about what we want to do when we grow up.” Christopher smirked to himself. He was getting rather good at telling fibs. “And I thought I might quite like to be a plastic surgeon.”
Her mum screwed up her face, “Really?”
Christopher nodded cheerfully, “Yep!”
“Right … .” She rolled her eyes. “Well there you go.”
She handed Christopher back the advert.
“But wait until I finished reading the paper before you start cutting it to pieces in future.”
“Right you are!”
“Oh and another thing!”
“YES,” said Christopher impatiently, skipping from one foot to another.
“I think its lovely that you want to pursue a career in medicine, completely out of the blue, but lovely all the same. But wouldn’t you rather be a proper surgeon. At least that way you’re helping people rather than just conning ugly people out of their money. It’s just my opinion but I don’t really trust plastic surgeons.”
“Whatever you say!” cried Christopher as he ran from the room.
His mum watched him go and then returned to her paper.
“Doctor Skinner indeed,” she muttered. “Sounds like a villain to me.”

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