Send her to your friendly local plastic surgeon. She'll call him a "miracle worker" until one of her cheek implants falls down (gravity will have its way; ah, so much gravitas affecting the human condition) during a super-charged boogie-woogie; then all those ogling businessmen and their once envious blond escorts will titter "Hmph! I didn't know that Mark stooped so low as to marry a *freak*!"
The friendly plastic surgeon will stitch the cheek implant back in place. Just a little steel wire here, a twist of hemp there;an invisible disappearing thread with only a little pain but so much gain; for a mere pittance, he'll even reinforce other cheek. All is honky-dorry, A-OK, copecetic, until Sassy Lassy bites down to hard on her lip and the lip implant starts oozing out, just like stuffing through a rip in the sofa upholstery.
No worry. Friendly plastic surgeon can re-stuff and reupholster her. Then, half of her reshaped, rejuvenated nose falls off, giving onlookers and up-close and personal view of her snot-clogged nasal turbinates.
"He married a freak.....but maybe she has a good personality", they'll say, and offer her condolence doggie-bags filled with last week's almost moldy turkey loaf. Be grateful for the kindliness of snickering strangers.
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