Middle Age Spread #2

For seventeen years since we met, Nick has lusted after my body - my shoulders, my legs, my symmetrical eyebrows -
"You're such a builder," I told him. "Why can't you love me for my beautiful mind?"
Be careful of what you wish for....
Since the onset of middle age spread (and it's NOT my imagination) I have noticed a subtle shift in the content of Nick's compliments. Finally he has started to love me for my mind.
And I don't mind telling you I don't like it at all.

Middle Age Spread

For years I have been a thin girl - size 10 in most my clothes - and I just keep on wearing them season after season even though they're washed out and threadbare and faded - they fit and I like them and that's all matters....
Until the middle of August, 10 weeks ago, when I tried to fasten a faithful pair of jeans and they refused to meet at my waist.
I wasn't particularly worried - I was in Ireland and I was eating potatoes every day. And everyone knows if you eat lots of potatoes you start to look like a potato. I was confident when I returned to Bahrain, the weight was simply melt off.
Except it hasn't. My clothes still don't fit - inspite of pilates and riding, organic brown rice and teetotalism.
I never thought Middle Age Spread would arrive over night without fanfare or warning. I expected a slow creep of weight gain. And not for another ten years at least.
I'm emotionally attached to my faded, funky clothes -I don't want to replace them with elasticated waist bands and foundation garments and big knickers...
The bottom line is: I don't want to grow older.

Airbrush

Poor Nicole Kidman, she got such a slagging for trying out Botox and fillers. And then when her signature strawberry hair began to turn silver she was slagged once again - 'Forget a hairdressing appointment, Nicole?'
Don't mean spirited media types understand that us natural redheads, with fair skin and fine hair age really badly from 40?
I, myself have notice a most ghastly decline in the elasticity of my skin - from now on it's long sleeves and skirts below knee length... And a monthly rolling appointment with Sara to have my red hair touched up... That's where I was this morning, shrouded in a sheet, flicking through 'Hello', discussing Nicole's recent statement that Botox et al did not suit her and she has stopped injecting stuff into her face...
"But can you believer her?" asked cynical Sara.
Well, actually yes, for there, in the midst of the glamorous airbrushed photographs of inhumanly beautiful women I found a photo of Nicole.
I showed it to Sara. I said: "Look - at last she has started to age in exactly the same way as me - we're both a bit slacker around the jaw line, and there are deep lines etched into our foreheads..."
Sara said: "Her hair's not as good as yours. She should phone me for an appointment."