Beauty and the Test

I was intrigued to discover today that although the early morning alien look is creeping up on me, my Real Age is actually only 23. I did some 'fun' test on Facebook today, stuck in all the details of my exciting (ahem) life and it seems I'm barely more than a teenager inside.

Which makes me wonder how old I'll get, and whether I'll be skipping about like a mountain goat aged 90 because inside I'll only be 69.

To be so young and spry is easy. Take one divvy unchallenging unstressful job. Mix in some exercise and reasonable food. Take out all the smoking. Add a little alcohol (no, that does not include 3 glasses of wine and a G&T per day...), some good friends, and soak overnight.

If you're on Facebook, take the test and swap notes.

Encouraged by such obvious glowing health, I signed up for some beautiful-me treatments on Monday. It's a holiday for me so rather than get my hair cut, I'm going to get tortured and buffed to within half an inch of my pain tolerance levels. I was reading on the internet site of the place I'm going to that there's a method for ridding the body of extraneous hair by some light system. I was all enthusiastic at such a painless-sounding treatment until I phoned for the price. "You want 'alf a leg done, mate? Tha'll be a hundred nicker..." On second thoughts, maybe I think I can put up with a little pain finalement. I gave birth twice without painkillers (and not from choice I might add), what's a little sting here 'n' there?

Talking of pain, ever tried ripping out top lip hairs? It's excruciating! But as we young Real Lifers get on a bit, those damn hairs just keep on sprouting and before you know it, you've got a friggin' moustache! So out they have to come. And OUCH as out they come.

Beauty is sooo painful.

Facebooked

I've done it, enfin. I've become a member of Facebook. It was Shane Richmond who persuaded me, I suppose in the end, although I've also read somewhere that Bebo and MySpace are for super-young and younger elements, but that Facebook was started at Stanford (or was it Harvard) and attracts professional types. Not that I'm a professional professional type, but I would be if I had a profession... You wouldn't catch me dead on a site called Bebo, and even MySpace has certain juvenile connotations for me due to the people you read about with an account (can't think of any offhand due to appalling memory).

Anyway, one boring afternoon, I thought, what the hell, let's see what the fuss is about, and signed myself up. Needless to say, I love it. It's a fabulous way to waste time, keep up with friends, find old friends, leave silly messages and post idiotic photos. Perfect!

Ten friends have braved the odds to be seen in my company and I've even had some messages. I am not SarahNoFriends, which one always worries about with these things... Once signed up, and invitations to pals sent, will they be bothered to click on the link or will they pooh pooh the idea and consigne my email to the poubelle? The suspense is killing as one waits for the first 'friend' to sign up. Oh frabjous day, calloo callay when one finds a brave soul on the friend list.

You should try it. It's terribly character-forming.

So, Shane, thanks for the tip, and do keep up the good work.

All I need now to be really trendy is to get an iPod. No, I don't have one, or an iPhone or an iBiro or an iWheelieBin. Yes, behind the times, I know, but I never really go anywhere where I need to be plugged in. Is that boring?