Milestones

A week's worth of milestones – it is now a year and a day since I started this blog. I am surprised it is still going. Many is the day my beautifully manicured finger is poised over the "delete this blog?" button – but as yet I have not been caught out, although should you revisit this site one day to find I have gone, I am sure you can imagine why.

And another milestone; I visited a certain clinic this week. When it comes to these things, I have always thought "never say never," but now I say "never again." While it wasn't terribly painful, it was demoralising to say the least, and my face is leaking something most unpleasant. I realise now that no matter what you do, it is never going to be good enough.

Father Time is far too clever to be fooled by a bit of surgical jiggery-pokery. How long can women fake youth, before they no longer look 30-something, but just a really peculiar fifty-something?

The receptionist read my form. "Oh," she said brightly, "you're only a few years older than me!" Curses! I know that tone too well – it said, "Ha ha! I look waaaay younger than you, Grannie!" I know the tone, because I have used it myself on others. But she was right. Her face was as smooth and white and unlined as a freshly boiled egg. I spent the afternoon recovering, watching movies and scrutinising actresses crows-feet.

So. It was all rather depressing. I told Mr Smith I didn't think I would ever do this again, and he would just have to accept that I would one day turn into a wizened old crone. He said, "Never mind, you'll be my wizened old crone," by which I know he meant well, but I had hoped for something a bit more flattering.

Another thought; You know how some clothing shops put those vanity mirrors in their dressing rooms – that make you look extra thin? I think the clinic had one of those too, except a mean version. Bloody hell! What a sight! Perhaps they do it so ladies come rushing into theatre screaming "Forget the cost, give me one of everything."

Well. Fuck that.