Some days I get out of bed and look fabulous. I just can't help it. My hair falls just 'so' and I look radiant. I look wonderful for the whole day with minimum effort on my part. Most days I get out of bed and look crap, a pale imitation of my former self. I have never been one to worry about wrinkles. I have never been particularly vain except during the years 18 to 28. But that's normal isn't it? I do not take especially great care of myself. I leave my make up on every night (not that I wear much) and drink far too much wine. I wash my face in a little soap and a soft white flannel, moisturise with Nivea and keep my face out of the sun. Just the plain old stuff.
I can't deal with that 'regenerating' stuff. It feels exactly like when you were a kid and used egg white to create a false scar on your face or being stood in a stiff cold breeze or perhaps a too tight elastic band in the hair aka Essex Face lift! None of that for me thank you. Then there are things called fillers. Cosmetic surgeons inject various substances into your face/arse/eyebrows/lips and take lots of money from you. Or perhaps they take fat from your arse and inject it into your face and take even more money from you! I recently saw a picture of my little sister with a friend of hers. They are the same age. My sis looked great and the friend looked like a caricature of her former self. I had to keep looking at the picture with an increasing disbelief that her face was not a mask.
Here I am refusing all gory/seriously expensive/plain daft cosmetic jabs/creams/potions. What will I do when I am 50 plus instead of 40 something which I am now? To be honest it really doesn't matter because I have become 'The Invisible Woman'. Take heed girls, it happens to all of us. And yes! it is true that I wear more scarves/pashmina's than I should but that is only when using handrails, doors and cashpoints so I have a barrier between myself and you germy lot. I also (very sensibly) steer clear of leopard print in my impending dotage.
Being Invisible means that men no longer look at you and call you 'Dear' or 'My Love'....which infuriates me to point of internal combustion. I don't really mind being invisible because it takes a lot of pressure off and I can just be me. The infuriating part comes when men who have no business looking at you in the first place have the cheek to ignore you..... I was in the Barbers with The Borg today. I had managed to drag him out to get his hair cut, which is on par with major surgery for him. Anyway, a bloke came in looking like Paul Weller, except he must have been pushing 60 with a Paul Weller haircut and proceeded to instruct the stylist to 'mind his fringe'. He then discussed his 20 something GF with the hairdresser. Eugh, eugh, eugh..... *puts finger down throat and gags*.
No, I am not jealous. No, I don't fancy him. Yes, the 20 something is quite obviously blind but FECK, he completely ignored me! It is obvious that I should break out the shawl and walking stick and reserve my burial plot. After all, I am a 40 something invisible woman.
Such a shame he did not realise that I am a cordon bleu cook, an intellectual , a fabulous homemaker, speak 3 languages and a complete hedonist. Ah well...it's his loss!
Rock it while you can Ladies!
Mrs Wook
I can't deal with that 'regenerating' stuff. It feels exactly like when you were a kid and used egg white to create a false scar on your face or being stood in a stiff cold breeze or perhaps a too tight elastic band in the hair aka Essex Face lift! None of that for me thank you. Then there are things called fillers. Cosmetic surgeons inject various substances into your face/arse/eyebrows/lips and take lots of money from you. Or perhaps they take fat from your arse and inject it into your face and take even more money from you! I recently saw a picture of my little sister with a friend of hers. They are the same age. My sis looked great and the friend looked like a caricature of her former self. I had to keep looking at the picture with an increasing disbelief that her face was not a mask.
Here I am refusing all gory/seriously expensive/plain daft cosmetic jabs/creams/potions. What will I do when I am 50 plus instead of 40 something which I am now? To be honest it really doesn't matter because I have become 'The Invisible Woman'. Take heed girls, it happens to all of us. And yes! it is true that I wear more scarves/pashmina's than I should but that is only when using handrails, doors and cashpoints so I have a barrier between myself and you germy lot. I also (very sensibly) steer clear of leopard print in my impending dotage.
Being Invisible means that men no longer look at you and call you 'Dear' or 'My Love'....which infuriates me to point of internal combustion. I don't really mind being invisible because it takes a lot of pressure off and I can just be me. The infuriating part comes when men who have no business looking at you in the first place have the cheek to ignore you..... I was in the Barbers with The Borg today. I had managed to drag him out to get his hair cut, which is on par with major surgery for him. Anyway, a bloke came in looking like Paul Weller, except he must have been pushing 60 with a Paul Weller haircut and proceeded to instruct the stylist to 'mind his fringe'. He then discussed his 20 something GF with the hairdresser. Eugh, eugh, eugh..... *puts finger down throat and gags*.
No, I am not jealous. No, I don't fancy him. Yes, the 20 something is quite obviously blind but FECK, he completely ignored me! It is obvious that I should break out the shawl and walking stick and reserve my burial plot. After all, I am a 40 something invisible woman.
Such a shame he did not realise that I am a cordon bleu cook, an intellectual , a fabulous homemaker, speak 3 languages and a complete hedonist. Ah well...it's his loss!
Rock it while you can Ladies!
Mrs Wook
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