Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Backblip

I read a press article this morning (I use that term loosely as it was actually the Daily Mail Online and yes I know it’s gutter press and I hate it with a vengeance but my inner masochist me makes me look!) entitled “The awful day we knew we'd lost our looks: It's the moment all women dread. Four writers reveal when it hit them”.

I won’t bore you with the minute detail but long story short, four women – four immensely successful and accomplished and still attractive women I hasten to add - shared with us how utterly devastated they felt the day they realised they weren’t as young as they used to be and just how awful this realisation is. One even went so far as to say “Some people may come to terms with ageing — I never will.” And that was the one who was hit by this realisation when she was 34. Yes, you read that right…..THIRTY-FOUR!

Now generally I’m not one to rant, but I cannot begin to articulate how boiling angry this article made me.

First of all, can you imagine the same article written by four successful middle aged men? Can you imagine the Daily Sh*te even thinking about approaching men and asking them to contribute to such an article. No. Neither can I.

And don’t even start me on women being valued only by how they look and the fact huge numbers of young women now model their “look” on the latest porn star and can’t have their photo taken without pouting and sticking their arses out. I could write a book on my thoughts on all of that.

No, the thing that offended and saddened me most about this article is that these four eejits seem to have lost sight of the fact that these signs of aging are not only natural, they are proof you are alive.

How bloody lucky are you to have lived long enough to have gathered a few lines around your eyes, a few grey hairs at your temples, an ache in your knees? Eh?

A friend of mine died last year leaving a 17 year old son. I have another friend who is on borrowed time and willing herself to stay alive long enough to see her youngest son reach the age of 16. Have they fretted over the day they supposedly realised they’d lost their looks? Not bloody likely!

Oh God it makes me weep to think how they would feel reading such crap!

Grey hair, creppy eyelids, drooping boobs, hairy chins….oh yes, it comes to us all. If we’re lucky!