Ageing and other bitches

 

I often forget how old I am. If asked, I say 27 or 28. A very good year when I look back. I still feel that age.

At school, I was never fashion forward, mostly sticking to classics, my handbook of “How to be a Sloane or a Preppy” tucked safely in my satchel. I bought a trench coat in London when I was fifteen and a pair of black loafers in Paris that became my school shoes. Teamed with a grey cashmere cardigan that replaced my ugly purple school jumper, I was comfortable in my conservative style. So now, as a card carrying adult I never look at clothes and think, I’m too old to wear that. I would never have worn it when I was young.

I do however lust after makeup. The daughter bought a glitter eyeliner that I am so, so jealous of.

I said to her, “I want to wear it.”

She said,  “Do it.”

I replied, “I will look like a drag queen. Patty O’ Furniture shall be my stage name.”

She rolled her eyes at me. They glittered mockingly. I slumped my shoulders in defeat.

I am not Kylie. I cannot do it. It seems age does know some boundaries when it comes to makeup.

*sigh, this is the curse of being a conservative Taurus.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s