Old skin, young bottom. Yikes.

Following my last post, written sometime in the last century, I have had a number of people ask me if that’s me in a swimming costume and snorkel set in the photo. The woman being chased by a gigantic frog in marshland somewhere in the world where frogs are gigantic. Well, no, that is not me. I am glad to say it’s not me for 2 reasons: 1/ I am not as wobblesome nor as pasty as that woman, and 2/ I have never been chased by a gigantic leering frog. However, I reckon that woman must have a wicked sense of humour as the photo makes me laugh every time I look at it. And to write the last five sentences I have just looked at the photo at least six times, resulting in precisely six laughs/grins. This may be a sign that tonight I have little to laugh about, or it may just be that that pasty, wobblesome woman in a snorkel set is a fine comic actress. Or maybe it’s just that I am a strange, twisted soul.

I searched for a photo of me in a swimming costume and then thought how utterly pointless it would be to post it up on my blog. Either I choose a good photo of me in a swimming costume, which would just be vain and boring and annoying, or I choose a crap photo of me in a swimming costume which would be brave but just as boring. And that set me wondering whether I will actually wear a swimming costume this year as we live in the south of France where you can usually count on it being hot and sunny from April until November, but this spring it has turned into the Outer Hebrides (I had to just check that the Outer Hebrides are where I thought they were, and they are, they haven’t moved, phew) so I don’t reckon I’ll be putting my winter boots, woolly tights and scarves away this year.

This may be a good thing. At least for my sun-damaged skin. Sorry, sun-destroyed skin. Sun-ravaged-and-ruined skin. Sun-totally-fucked skin. My step-mother makes soaps and skin creams and serums and when I pointed out the 8 zillion lines and creases around my eyes and criss-crossing my face and cleavage and entire body, and asked why oh why oh WHY, she screwed her nose up in a sort of apologetic manner as if there really wasn’t much she could do for me and replied “well, you know, sun-damage”. This made me fast face up to the reality of my sun-baked childhood years in Egypt, Ghana and Brazil and then summer holidays in France soaking up as much sun as I could take without turning into a cockroach or a cactus. It also sealed my fate. There is nothing you can do for sun-damaged skin except accept the fact your face is lined and always will be.

My skin is ten years older than it should be. But my bottom is 20 years younger than it should be. This makes it very confusing for people meeting me on the beach. I have turned into one of those women who look pretty hot from the back, and then the woman turns around and you realise she is old enough to be your granny and you wish she hadn’t turned around or at least that you hadn’t seen her bottom. Those women used to give me the creeps. And now I am one of them.

So I went to a beauty shop to ask what skin protection I should wear on my face and the woman handed me a balaclava.

That last sentence was a lie. But it could well happen. Which is why I’m not going near any beauty shops. I am pretending that “beauty” is not for me. Nah, I don’t care, me. As long as I’m healthy, who cares about looking young and gorgeous? Not me. Honest. HONEST, REALLY I DON’T CARE. What? The bottle of Argan oil on my dresser? No, I had no idea it’s meant to make SUN-DAMAGED SKIN look smoother, what a total and utter coincidence. What? Photoshopping photos of my face? Blurring out the lines? ME? Nah, I wouldn’t do that. Honest, I don’t care about beauty and stuff. No, really. Honest. I’m just happy my kids are healthy. Pass me that skin rejuvenating laser machine thing, please.

Wrinkled skin? Wear a balaclava.

Wrinkled skin? Wear a balaclava.

8 thoughts on “Old skin, young bottom. Yikes.

  1. Its funny that your face:bum age ratio has been troubling you recently as just the other day I had a bum:calf epiphany!
    As you well know I have always been burdened with “heavy” legs, when driving the other day I noticed a lady with a full behind and felt a pang of envy as mine is more of the boy like variety. On considering this it occurred to me that perhaps some of what should had been my bum perhaps slipped down somewhen over the years a settled itself around my lower legs!
    If only I could find a way to work it back up again….

    • Things don’t go upwards though. Unfortunately. (thinking of my boobs now).
      With chunky calves you can just wear boots or jeans and no-one will ever know.
      A balaclava is a bit more difficult to carry off. They know something is wrong.

      • there are blokes who PAY for that kind of service Clare. And you are far too hard on yourself – not only do you have the arse of a teenager, you have the entire body of a teenager. And that is why I have always hated you.

      • Yes, the entire body of a teenager, draped in the skin of an old lady. Nice. Not.
        I would prefer the young face thing, thanks.

  2. You want to move back to the UK where the sun NEVER shines and it NEVER gets above 11 degrees, so there is no chance of EVER getting a tan. I have just ordered a new load of wood for the wood-burner, the heating in on and the kids are wearing their winter coats back on. It is May 15th for god’s sake. Miserable.

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