Years ago,when I was a mere slip of a girl (around 50 say) I vowed that if I reached a certain age, I would Let Myself Go. I would stop having my roots done, go out without a face full of slap, stop squirting on a bit of perfume to go shopping.

Most of my planned surrender was based around food. Having once been very fat, I have maintained a slim, some say skinny, body by exercising iron self-control, and walking a lot. I've served my time for many years.

I decided I would continue with the walking, as I enjoy it. But the new diet-oh boy! Instead of spending many of my waking hours thinking about food, I would be stuffing my face with forbidden treats. This would be potent self-medication for anxiety and depression. Instead of gloomy ruminations, I would be busy planning the next feast.

The Gods have dealt me a cruel hand, very greedy, but self-conscious about my looks. Rich puddings, toast dripping with butter, and chocolate would join the daily Prozac. Instead of waking each morning with that vague sense of dread, dragging downstairs to breakfast on fresh fruit, I would spring out of bed, celebrate my Celtic roots, and get the pan out. After all, who cares if an old lady is rather portly. I could save a fortune on fillers and Botox, my own lardy padding would fill out the wrinkles very nicely, nature's own dermafiller.

When I ceased to care about appearances, became invisible, stopped getting the occasional glad eye from the opposite sex, I would feel liberated. My partner once failed to notice when I had a foot of hair cut off, so no problems there. He might moan that there was less room on the sofa, and wonder who this big grey-haired woman was who had moved in, and why his stash of biscuits had vanished, but he would soon adjust.

Then I reached the deadline, and found that even if nobody else cared, I did. Give it a few more years, perhaps I could stretch it out a bit longer. I blame mirrors, you can't get away from them. I blame Helen Mirren too, but mostly I blame mirrors. Years passed.

I gave myself an extension, no need to be too hasty. Just another year, then Wahay!!

So,forward to the present day. Off to get the highlights done, cursing the huge mirror at the hairdressers, composing my face before I look up. My neighbour is gardening in shorts, absorbed in the pleasure of her plants, varicose veins galore, bingo wings flapping. I am avidly reading the beauty blogs, counting calories, combing my hair and putting on blusher before signing for a parcel. I just can't let this wretched woman go.

Valerie

A Moodscope user.