Welcome to my world....
Fake tan, fake orgasms and fake faces. Where a nice set of veneers means a set of very expensive teeth rather than a collection of polished table tops, and crows' feet only appear in freshly fallen snow, never around your face.
In my life women and men stick together so the long sighted ones read the number on the bus and the short sighted ones know when it's arrived. Together we decipher different bits of a menu, rather than just have the soup again. Feeling 21, we're like the smell of newly mown grass in the rain, a moment that is fleetingly fabulous but over far too soon.
I am 47. There it is in black and white. Damning, dangerous and downright unbelievable. I've lied about my age longer than I can remember, at first when I was 16 to get into clubs for 18s then when I was 20 to go out with a man who was 30 (he wasn't marriage material though he did build me a conservatory). Now in my 40s it's an Olympic feat to get a decent geezer at all. One with all his own pension. Have you ever met a 50 year old bloke who really, truthfully, hand on heart attack wants to date a woman over 40? I was told on one blind date (aged 62 in guttering ) that men have their own formula for finding a woman - she has to be half your age plus seven.
50 -25 + 7 = 32
Geddit?
At 47 I'm divorced, broke and regretting how it all went wrong when I met the ginger minger.
Down I may be, but I'm not out. From this day forward, life is what you fake it.
I have a date. Not with destiny, but Dave.
I just have to make sure the overnight carer arrives on time to look after mum and then I'm off out.
Watch out world.
Faking hell!
