bee feast

I really, honestly do not mind the small physical indications that I'm getting older (funny phrase, that, so emotive and yet three-year-olds and twelve-year-olds are doing exactly the same thing, the most basic of things). The lines aren't quite there yet but I can see the prelimary sketches. However, most things are holding up very well, I don't look much different than I did when I was 21 (not that 21 is anything to aspire to, I think, at least I don't miss it). I'm actually in better shape physically and mentally than I was at that age, when I was heavier and more depressed and awkward and hadn't yet had my visit from the cheekbone fairy - hopefully I'll be able to dangle from that blessed bit of facial scaffolding for some years to come. Yes, so I'm not grumbling at all, not a bit - it's all accidental, anyway, and very little to do with me, and while I think the point is (if there is one at all) to make your age look good and not to try to look younger (bizarre concept, that), I had a little smirk to myself the last time I bought booze in a shop and they asked me if I was over 21.

But - a grey eyelash? A grey eyelash? Come on, guys, don't fanny about. I can handle it. This way it's just vaguely insulting, frankly.