I saw a guy that I used to go out with the other day. Did a line with’, as we used to say in Cork. It could have been for a week, but it was still a line’, and he looked ancient. White hair, slow gait and masses of wrinkles. I can still walk fairly quickly, I can dye the hair but I’m going to have to look after my skin, I thought to myself.
Creams galore abound on my bedside table, and I never ever use them. Sometimes when I’ve had a few drinks, I get a notion to adopt a new regime and find a film of gunge that would cause Estee Lauder to turn over in her grave. I have an addictive personality, so I went through quite a long phase of buying two products and getting a little bag of sample-size treats free. I never used the two products or the little freebies. Or the free bag for that matter.
I often brought them with me when I was travelling only to bring them back again unopened. They are clearly well gone off by now and would probably do more damage than good. It’s a bit like the cookery books never opened. It’s becoming clear why I have no money.
I was cleaning my make-up off one night while on holiday with a friend and when she saw me cleansing my face with toilet paper she nearly had a stroke. According to her, there were shards of glass in toilet paper. I’m much more concerned about my bottom since she told me. Maybe I was always more concerned about my ass than my face.
I never apply after sun and my extremities become fish-like and scaly in the summer months. Not a good look. And then my nose starts to peel too — cute on a child but not beguiling on an older woman. The new regime is, however, about to kick off. I’m going to take one of the 10 foot spas out of the shed and use it every night while I’m watching telly. Face masks will be the order of the day. Neck massages. Eye masks.
All those guys will say she’s too young looking to be the girl’ I did a line’ with.