I'm going to be taller.
And, I'm going to audition prospective husbands with a Polaroid camera. If they can't take a picture of me where I don't look like some scrunch-faced troll scurrying across the ground to get out of the light.... that's it.
Until I got married, I wasn't overly concerned with my age. But, that's when it started. And, it really wasn't me. It was the comments that I attracted.
Entering David's Bridal shop "The mother of the bride dresses are in the rear."
My Uncle Carroll pointing out all my grey hairs and asking if I'd been through menopause yet.
The b#&*@! at the pet store asking if I had GRANDCHILDREN.
You will note, however, that I am looking pretty hip...despite the windblown condition of my hair. Can't place it? It's the bra strap. In Brissie, having straps hanging out is tres chic. Last summer I was astounded to not only see straps on shoulders but also across women's backs if the neck line was cut particularly low. I thought it was just tacky- but hey- obviously it looks pretty good on me.
This season, however, not so many straps. (Maybe I'm again passe? or, maybe it is too early in the spring?) My current peeve is being mooned by women in low riding pants. Personally, I never thought it worked for plumbers, either.
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