I am starting to find the odd grey hair hiding amongst the rest. They are sneaky and just lie unobtrusively until I go out to a party on somewhere where I want to look my best and suddenly they start glistening at me from among the mousy brown and dark blonde tresses.

I pulled the odd one out but one grey hair seems to beget another so it probably isn’t such a great idea unless I’ll be happier with bald patches than grey hairs.

Obviously neither is the answer and while I do occasionally get my hair coloured or highlighted, it’s one thing to do it out of choice but depressing to have to do it. I’m not old enough for grey hairs, my psyche stopped at eighteen and although I am way, way, wayhay, past that my heart isn’t. It took me years to realise other adults (of a similar age) weren’t the only grown ups but that I was one too. Now I’ll be passing grey haired people knowing that even though my hair is disguised, I’m now one of them (Weep!)

Why is it that I can wake up perfectly happy and feeling trim, energetic and happy on some days and on others feel like hippopotamus. It doesn’t matter if I have eaten lots, or not or whether I am slimming  or not. Some days are fine, other days are fat days which I waddle through feeling as heavy and ugly as a old tyre.

People who know me must be bewildered because on happy bouncy thin days I am so friendly and cheerful while on fat days I sludge around keeping my head down and saying as little as possible because I feel so lumpy. The thing is, they don’t know I’m having a fat day so they must feel I’m a moody cow which makes me feel even worse.

I am a bit of a yo-yo dieter and while not fat, am not skinny either and tend to go between ok and slightly overweight, but nothing like the great obese mass that I feel in my head.

The thing is, that other women also have fat days so what causes them and is there a cure? Apart from chocolate that is.

Shampoo.
Dirty hair. Bald head.

Razor.
Bearded men. Hairy legged women. Furry edged bikinis.

Face cream.
Wrinkly faced thirty year olds.

Nail varnish.
Dirty nails, exposed! Beige hands.

Deodorant.
Smelly people. Stinky tubes and buses. Pheronome fuelled love affairs.

After Shave.
Stinking men’s sheets that (you now realise) haven’t been washed for months.(Ditto, underwear!)

Perfume.
Women who can’t pretend they never suffer with flatulence.

Make up.
Plain or unattractive models, film and pop stars. Raised self esteem for ordinary women.

More ideas welcome!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kweav/835871610/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/fanz/151155949/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/shirin-natalie/527488019/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/hvhe1/486060321/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/7988182@N04/1435262724/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/trentdavis/195017368/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/11227071 http://www.flickr.com/photos/mylakent/44584192/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/eey/127643607/

It’s nice to be told that you are pretty and smart but the trick is to tell it to yourself every day. Then you have to believe it, and that is sometimes a bit harder!  Once achieved though, you will feel as though you can do ANYTHING and secure in your own skin, won’t care too much what other people think! Though of course you’ll still be delighted if they think good things.

Whoever thought up the particular torture of bikini waxing probably suggested it as a joke.

see Alpha Mummy’s  Lady hair: a full, frank and furry discussion.Then someone took it seriously and like the Emporer in the story who was so convinced he was wearing fancy costly garments instead of standing naked, that he got everyone else except a small boy, to suspend their disbelief (The Emporer’s New Clothes;) women have been sucked into having this torment committed and (ha!) actually paying for it.

I feel for pubescent girls. Not only do they discover the misery of periods whilst told that it is a natural part of growing up, but they are then told that their bodily hair is not natural and they should regularly erase it. Talk about confusing them.

Car wheel hubs.
Pretending to pick something up while checking that there is no lipstick on your teeth

Mobile phone screens
Making sure you look your best without making it obvious.

Oven or microwave door
In the middle of a dinner party, between courses when there is no time to rush to the bedroom or the loo and your handbag is in the room with the guests.

PC screens when the screen is turned off.
A quick unobtrusive check when you see the office hunk appear at the door.

Knife edge, in a restaurant.
While on a hot date, to ensure there is no cabbage in your teeth

Sunglasses -(someone elses)
But you may be so busy looking at your reflection you get too close, and make someone think you fancy them.

Glitterball
You get a rough idea of your shape as lots of teeny yous’ pirouette to the music.

Tin pie dishes
As you unpack the takeaway.

Brass door panels
A likely story to excuse listening at the door!

Rivers or ponds.
But stare too long and somebody will start to talk you out of jumping.

Puddles
When out walking the dog without your handbag, and somebody gives you a funny look.

Compact Discs
Have a quick look while listening to music with a partner, or sneak a peek after a snog

Move slowly keeping your head as still as possible.

Protect your hair from the wind or rain with an umbrella.

Buy all the products that they recommended. Good stylists will tell you of cheaper versions available rather than pushing you to buy theirs.

Buy a hairbrush which is exactly the size and shape of the one they used.

Buy the tool they used – hair straighteners, heated curlers or special nozzle attachment hair dryer.

Spend the night trying to keep your head as still as possible. For example, don’t eat anything that may give you nightmares and don’t make love.

Wake up look in the mirror and shriek, before washing your hair and using all the new products and tools.

When this does not work, wet it and start again, trying to remember exactly what the stylist did and in which order.

When this fails look on the internet for advice. Print it out and try again.

When this does not work either, get out all the old products you have ever used and try them.

Finally, decide to bundle all your hair underneath a hat.

Re-visit your stylist as soon as possible.

http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/b/big_bottom.asp

We can sit on a hard chair in comfort.

Large bottomed mothers attend more school plays and functions leading to greater self esteem in their children.

Committees where the majority consists of large bottomed females get more done because they extend the meeting time by approximately one hour.

Big bottomed women attend church regularly. (Although churches are now starting to provide pew cushions to encourage smaller bottomed individuals to attend.)

Alien invaders communicate with that part of our body first – and are pleased with the intelligent response.

We can still look slim and gorgeous…from the front.

We have no need of an extra float when learning to swim.

Pickpockets, who steal up from behind, can’t get close enough to get their hands in our bag or pocket.

Men want to be the one behind, when forming a train at parties.

Nobody expects us to ride a bicycle.

Nobody seriously expects us to wear a thong (without it being mislaid for days.)

It breaks our fall if we drink too much at parties (when young) or tumble downstairs (when older) Learning to fall properly on a big bum can be a life-saver for ladies over sixty with brittle bones.

‘Does my bum look big in this?’ Is the perfect lie detector. If he lies about that can we ever trust him again?

Behind every great woman is a big bum. (But when he leaves she can at least sit down in comfort!)

The Stepford Wives are alive and well, selling perfume and lipstick in major department stores near me. As I stagger in with shopping bags which hurl themselves to the floor, my scarf catches in the door. I let go of the bag handles and step back three paces to save my puce face from further discolouration from strangulation and embarrassment. I manage to disentangle the scarf, gather my randomly scattered bags and smooth my windswept hair and rain spattered face.

Then I notice the stepford girlies, their shiny pink rosebud lips shaped in patronizing simpers as they look from me to each other and raise their impeccably drawn eyebrows slightly, (not enough to cause a wrinkle and send them rushing off for a botox fix.)

I walk past as they stand, torpedo-boobs and non-bottoms captured in miniature white coats, long red fingertips twitching around to find a little duster to wipe off any untoward rain splatters that have been impolite enough to scatter themselves on to their counter.

I can look nice, honestly. I just don’t glide around looking like Victoria Beckham or Madonna on a daily basis, or do factory production line style exercises. One two three four, thirty two, fifty six,…..” At eleven a bell rings and they clock off for a glass of water and three cress. Eleven fifteen and off they go again, “Fifty seven, fifty eight….,”

Would most women rather do that amount of press ups for a perfect stomach or put up with a bit of childbearing bulge? Many of us are modelling the answer.

The time for looking perfect is limited no matter how much you spend on line busting, face smoothing, wrinkle ironing, lip puffing lotions and potions. But I still lather on expensive superplenamin multiwrinkle vanquishing cream daily. This morning, peering at my imperfect face in the mirror, I decide to ask for my twenty quid back, because I’m worth it.