Bright eyes...

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Since giving up work ten days ago, taking any care of my personal appearance has been reduced to a quick flick of a face wipe and a splodge of moisturizer.  Even the mascara has only seen daylight on a couple of occasions, and it is this which shocks me most.

It is a well known fact in our family that when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will be carrying a small brown paper bag from Boots which will contain several Max Factor Masterpiece mascaras.  In the last couple of decades, I reckon I have managed to keep the Max Factor shareholders extremely happy and I would imagine that their CEO is currently looking at some graph showing their plummeting sales for the last few days.  

When I look in a mirror with mascara free lashes, all I see is a sleepy Bird.  What I don't see is what others seem to...

'Have you changed your hairstyle?'

Goodness, no.  Since deciding to keep the husband happy and attempt to grow my hair beyond my ears, every day is a battle to keep it under control (I could be referring to just the hair here, you decide).  I am mourning my beanie hat as it's got warmer.  That was a proper Harvest Festival Hat (all is safely gathered in) but not suitable when the sun is beating down.

'Did you used to have a fringe?'

What do you think?  Curly afro fringe?  Think French poodle, then give yourself a slap and never mention the F-word again.

'Where have your eyelashes gone?

Well at the moment, they are residing in a Max Factor tube waiting for the day when they see daylight again.

'Are you OK?  You look washed out'.

At last, the sensible, honest friend we all yearn for.  

And then you have to explain, that when you worked and needed to look a bit perky for several hours a day, mascara did a great job in opening up the old peepers and making you look like you weren't going to be found slumped across your desk nursing a lukewarm cup of tea.

Now I don't work, life is easier, stress has alley-ooped out the front door, and life is generally pretty good. So why do I look so haggard without the mascara?

And then I remember.

I'm almost 59 and my entire body is heading south more quickly than a whore's drawers.  

Perhaps the mascara is actually the least of my worries...



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