A Micro Mishap'

Of all the desperately stupid things I’ve done in my life, tattooing my eyebrows is by far the stupidest.

Social media has been full of really beautiful picture of girls who have tattooed their eyebrows, using a technique called Mircoblading. It’s the latest trend in giving your brows shape and definition. No more dying your eyebrows and no more plucking to get that great shape – you can have great brows permanently etched onto your face! I’ve been dying to do it.

I did some research and have seen the most gorgeous microbladed brows all over the net. Since mine are so thin and, dare I say - grey, I reckoned that microbading would definitely be the thing for me! Since it’s trending right now, and I’m such a trendy chick, I decided I’d go for it!

WTF HAVE I DONE!

I tootled off on Monday morning to my Microblading appointment, without having told my husband I was going!  I don’t discuss these things with him before hand – And with very good reason of course. He always tries to talk me out of the stupid things I do. But I kind of need to bump my head to learn a lesson, so it doesn’t work to talk me down. You just gotta let me make my mistakes. I also hate the “I told you so” after the fact, so I don’t discuss – I just do!  Yeah, I know, it’s called stubborn. Oh no wait, it’s called stupid.  

About 20 minutes after I got back with my new eyebrows, in walked my man! Immediately as he looked at me he blurted out in shock: “WTF have you done?”  

That was my first indication that I have turned myself into a hideous creature. (At great cost to myself I might add.)

“Teacher, why are you wearing so much make-up?” – Second indication.

“Teacher, why are you wearing Halloween stuff?” – Third indication.

“You look like an Angry Bird!” – Fourth indication

“Mom,*giggle* what have you done? *giggle*” – Fifth indication

And as for everyone who hasn’t said a word, it’s not because they haven’t noticed. I mean really – there is no way you can miss the two big black blocks that are supposed to be my brows. I think some people just don’t have words. When they talk to me their sights are very clearly set on them - their facial expressions are questioning: “WTF has she done”. They don’t ask out loud, because they are polite. Or perhaps because they are in so much shock they have no words. I imagine that when they walk away they are suppressing much laughter.  

It’s only been two days! Where will I hide for the rest of my life?

I don’t understand – I was supposed to look like those beautiful girls on the Internet. Not that I wanted to be an eyebrow model or anything but nice brows where supposed to take attention off my wrinkles.

After a little discussion with a fellow microblader, I feel somewhat better! Emphasis on SOMEWHAT! Apparently after the scabs fall off my brows will be much lighter and not nearly as big and thick and caterpillar looking!  I just have to wait a week and a half.

Something tells me the next week and a half will be the longest week and a half of my entire life!

TIP OF THE WEEK: Book now, Girls. Don't delay, go microblade your brows TODAY.

 (Come on, PLEASE! - I don't want to be the only idiot.) 

A new dilemma

I’m not a multitasker. Never have been! I find it damn near impossible to focus on two things at once. Whoever started the rumour that women are the best multitaskers needs a bit of a wake up slap! To say such a thing is mean, cruel and untrue.  Try as I might, I end up feeling like a failure as a woman because I just can’t do it. It puts me under pressure and I become impossible to be around, so I avoid it at all costs.

Lately I’ve spent so much time worrying about my wrinkles that I haven’t been watching my weight. According to the scale I have gained 7Kgs since I reached my target last April.

 

I suspected I was gaining about a month ago. I could feel it in my jeans. Also, my body does this disturbing thing where it sends a great deal of fat to my tummy. Why it can’t be distributed evenly around my body I’ll never know.  I can tell when I gain weight because painting my toe nails becomes a bit of a contortion act. I can’t bend over my belly and breathe at the same time. Prettying up my toes is a paint, pant, paint, pant process.

“Babe, does it look like I’ve gained weight?” I asked my husband

“No Love. You look great!” he replies.

He’s quite obviously lying! He’s been known to say loads of really nice things to me to avoid me sulking or refusing to cook. He also says nice things when he thinks I’ll let him get cosy with me. The cheeky bugger!

The weather has really warmed up, so last night I took out my summer pj’s. The cutest little shorts and shirt set which I bought last summer.  I put the shorts on and to my blushing embarrassment they now fit like knickers and not at all like the shorts they are supposed to be. Break out the Banshee………. “Hells bells”, I roared, “Not this fat crap again!”

This morning it happened that I had to take a little trot to catch up to someone I wanted to talk to. I felt this really abnormal feeling behind me. My butt was bouncing wildly and a phrase my late grandfather used to say came to mind. If ever my grandpa saw a woman walking by, who had a particularly large bum, he would say “Look at her backside – It looks like two monkeys fighting in a mielie sack!” It would crack everyone up and all would be in fits of laugher. But there I was … trotting away with my butt doing the whole monkeys in the mielie sack thing! And I wasn’t laughing.

There is no debate - I have gained weight.

Although I have consistently been avoiding carbs like bread, pasta and potatoes, I do indulge in a beer or three every now and then and I eat choccies (most nights). 

I suspect the actual problem is that my meal portions have grown considerably. We are also coming out of winter so I do have the very valid excuse that winter did this to me.  

Standing at the mirror, taking a long hard look at myself I noticed the bright side of my weight gain. (Yes, there is always a bright side.) My wrinkles have far less depth. My face looks plumper and, I suppose, about as youthful as a sun damaged, hard working, stress feeling 42 year old could look.

I arrive at the crossroad of an impossible decision – 

To be thin and wrinkly or fat and wrinkle free? 

I can’t decide which would be the lesser of the two uglies?

I ponder what Mark Wahlburg would prefer?  Perhaps I’ll write to him and ask. 

And then there's the sucking option.

In November last year I received a really awesome gift for my birthday, from two of my GF’s. The gift was two free sessions of Endermolift. Endermolift is another option for people like me who are seeking a non surgical face lift.  

Endermolift entails using a pretty big machine with a small little sucker-thingy that sucks your face. Not your whole face all at once but rather, the operator moves the little sucker nozzle over your face in a suck, lift, suck, lift kind of way. The sucking stimulates blood circulation in the deep layers of your skin. It does loads of other stuff too but I can’t tell you what because I forgot. All I can say is it’s like fat fish kisses but without the wet and slimy. It feels strange at first but I’ve actually come to enjoy it.  I have been quite a few times since November, but not at all since I had Fillers.

I’ve been a bit nervous to go back because I really didn’t want Marisol to know I had cheated on her. She truly believes her machine is all I need – she has repeated time and time again – No injections – No surgery – All natural.  

After a whole month I finally plucked up the courage to go see Marisol. I figured if no one else had noticed I’d had fillers then neither would she.   When I popped in to see her today she was so happy and I realised I had really missed this little foreign lady and her face sucking machine.

Marisol is not South African. She's foreign, but I’m not certain which foreign she is. She’s definitely not Russian, Oriental, German or Australian.  I guessed she could be Portuguese but then decided perhaps she is Greek or Turkish. She couldn’t be Slovakian – I don’t know how I know that but I just do! Whatever foreign she is, it doesn’t actually matter because for some remarkable reason I can understand her. You see, she speaks to me in Foreign and I speak to her in South African.

She says: “You go too long – I like see you back – Come you lie!” 

Which in South African means - Chick, your face looks awful, it’s about time you showed up for some fixing, lie down let me see what I can do!

She continues once I’m lying down, “I take yellow - no good machine!” 

This means - I am removing your make-up because that shit stuffs up my machine!

Once she starts the sucking process she can change the suction power depending on where in the face she’s working. 

"I am too rude?” she asks concerned. 

This means - Am I hurting you?

She says, “You eyes to express, I no spend to lot time, make yellow grey.” 

This means – You talk with way to much expression, you must tone down a bit and stop being so over expressive when you tell stories. I can’t spend time sucking your eyes because I’m going to bruise you. 

When she’s done she says: “Ah, you teenage!” 

I don’t know for sure what this means but it’s something good because she is smiling broadly when she says this and looks pleased with herself.

When I’m leaving she says “You come again back, please.” 

This means - you better get your arse back on my Endermolift bed sometime very soon because this session didn’t do the trick.  

So Marisol didn’t notice I had Fillers. I’m safe! She’s oblivious to the fact that I cheated on her. All’s well that ends well!

And yet, I can’t help feeling that awful pang of disappointment that she didn’t notice, as it serves as another painful reminder of all the money I wasted on something that did nothing for me.

I was oddly overcome with curiosity as I was leaving today. 

“Marisol” I asked, “Where are you from?”

“Venezuela.” she answered, smiling.

Damn – Why didn’t I guess that?   

I suspect her smile meant that nobody ever does! 

Toodles

xxx

Out of the mouths...

See me,wrinkle free!

When I was younger working with kids was really awesome for my ego. More often than not, the little beauts would make me feel so good about myself. They would say the sweetest things.

"Good morning teacher, I like your dress!"

"Good morning teacher, your hair is so soft."

"Good morning teacher, you are sooooooooooo pretty."

"Teacher, one day when I'm big I want to be a princess just like you!"

I loved the compliments. I thrived on them.

Now, when I think back on all the beautiful compliments the kids used to pay me I just want to crumple in to a ball of suicide and cry my eyes out! You know, cry the ugly cry - snot dripping, face contorted and voice all pitched and hoarse at the same time. The little buggers never compliment me anymore. I can't remember when last I was told by a 4 year old that I am pretty!  I could blame the parents and say that modern day folk don't teach their kids any manners, but the fact of the matter is I don’t know that for a fact.  I would hate to start a rumour based on an assumption so I'm just going to have to go with..... I've got old and little kids don’t think old is pretty.

A 13 year old asked me how old I am.

“How old do you think I am?” I responded.

I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I answered his question with a question. I walked straight into his dreadful response.

“A HUNDRED” he shouted out his guess.

It was hard not to retort. I desperately wanted to tell him that I didn’t like his shoes and that he had ugly hair and his pimples made me feel sick, but I behaved, literally biting my tongue.

“Good guess”, came my bitter reply.

“Teacher, are you a granny?” a 5 year old asked.

Another ambush that I walked straight into. There really is something wrong with me! I’m some sort of sucker for punishment.

“No sweetie, I’m not a granny. Why do you ask?”

“Because you look like one!”

Why couldn’t I just have responded with a NO? Why did I have to ask?

And, whoever it was that made it illegal to lock kids in boxes - I hate that guy. I really, really hate that guy.

“Teacher, what are all those things on your face.”

“Do you mean my freckles?”

“No, those line things!”

What I really wanted to spit back at this 6 year old was that the lines were proof that I’m not a sour puss like her mom! But again I bit my tongue, put my hands (that I was envisaging around her neck) in my pockets and smiled sweetly….

“They are the stripes that I’ve earned for being a really cool person.”

So the last 5 or so years have been very much ‘compliment free’ years. My ego has plummeted and I feel so rotten about aging and my wretched wrinkling. I have really low self esteem because I place such high value on how four year olds perceive me. (Yes… I know…. There’s something really wrong with me.)

But in my own defence, if you consider that the age of the people I spend the best part of most days with is between 2 and 13 years, what else do you expect!

And then, a compliment came in the way of a picture….

A totally unintended compliment I’m sure, but I’m grabbing it, using it, holding on to it and boosting my ego with it.

“Teacher Nat, I drew this picture for you!” said 7 year old Mpho. “It’s a picture of you with your wolf.” she explained.

I took the picture from her and scanned across the page.

“It’s beautiful my darling!” I exclaimed, holding back tears.

“It’s really, really beautiful!”

I was deeply touched -A compliment at last.

She had drawn me without wrinkles!

Currently I have enough ‘self – e – steam’ to run on for as long as the Prestik keeps the picture hanging on my office wall. I will really be putting the stick-span of Prestik to the test.   

Toodles

xxx

 

Free advice?

Since I started my little ‘whine & moan' I have been sent a total of 4 (yes, only four) tips that could possibly help me with my wrinkle dilemma. What the heck people? Help an old bag out! Where's all the advice?  Sheeez, nobody gives out free advice anymore! But anyway......  Special thanks to the four GF's that were kind enough to recommend possible solutions. 

My first offer of a possible solution came all the way from Abu Dhabi - You see, it’s the far-away friends that really care.... they can give you their beauty secrets because they don’t need to compete against your good looks. They live too far away to be threatened by your possible gorgeousness.  

Now there were no empty promises made here. Sandy was honest from the start and said she had not experimented with the capsules herself but had heard that drinking Collagen was supposed to be a great remedy for firming skin. Considering many of my wrinkles appeared after my weight loss this advice was taken very seriously and collagen capsules were acquired. The instructions read: Take three capsules at night. So, I drink three capsules every night (that I remember).

My second lot of advice came from my little (she's really short) friend, who works in the beauty department of a national pharmacy-type-store. Apparently it’s not only external factors such as sun damage that can cause wrinkles. Bad diet, not drinking enough water (let’s not go there again), free radicals, booze, and stress can all play a part in how your skin ages. It doesn’t help that I carry some seriously awful aging genes, but apparently my damage has been done from inside, outside and my family genetics. Eish! So, according to Erina I can try to fight my wrinkles from the inside too, and not just use all the creams and topical potions. Erina recommended the Nutriwoman vitamin package. This is a package that contains daily packs of vitamins - 7 (SEVEN) capsules to be taken every morning. It’s not an easy feat since half the capsules are the size of bullets. It takes a whole cup of tea to get them all down, but on the up side they really fill me up, so I can leave the house feeling like I've had breakfast even though I haven't.  I remember to take these ones daily because I keep them in the drawer with my 'pollyfiller' - otherwise known as make-up.  I've been taking them for two weeks now. No great shakes just yet - I can't see any changes other than radio-active looking pee.  

After whinging about Dr Evil and my wasted 10K I was invited to a ‘Ladies Beauty Day’ by a pal that’s probably only 3 years younger than me, but looks half my age. The information I received was that a Doctor was inviting 20 women to take part in a beauty day in which she will do a free skin analysis and have lovely specials on all her Botox and Filler packages. “Oh wow,” I thought… I already have some Filler in my face – evidently not nearly enough – so maybe I should attend the ‘cheap beauty day’ and get a top-up of Filler - perhaps then I’ll see a difference. “Sign me up – I’ll be there!”  I said happily. If it’s cheap or free I’m in!  I was added to the Whatsapp group and received some more info saying that there will even be a lucky draw and one of us lucky ladies will win something. The message doesn’t specify what, but I’m hoping its FREE FILLER! Those other chicks won’t know what’s hit them if the prize is free Filler. I’ve been known to bite, scratch and elbow people in the throat to get what I want. Those other women will have to be-very-ware!   A few days later I was added to an emailing list as more info was being sent out to all the prospective ‘old gals’ looking for a quick fix. I received the email and opened it excitedly and y’all ain’t gonna believe this…. The attending Doctor is ……………..  DR EVIL!  Should I go or shouldn’t I? Make no mistake, I’m going to be there – I’m taking this face of mine right over to that party and if I don’t get a free Filler fix I’m going be flapping my lips to all those old bats about my first very expensive, very disappointing ordeal with Dr Evil. When those girls hear that they are potentially about to waste money they’ll all be leaving that ladies party and Dr Evil will lose beeeg moola! A lot more than one free fix of Filler.  She better be good to me… or so help me, I’ll flap these lips, I’ll sing like a caged canary.  

The last piece of advice I’ve received actually came from my mom.

“Nakki-Noo” she started “there is one option and one option only – The knife!”

She continued, “You just have too much skin, my little duck! Trust me, nothing will take it away – only the knife!”  

She was using her knowing tone of voice.  

“But maaaarmie,” I whined, “I’ll upset Greg – He is pretty much against surgery for wrinkles since it’s not a life-threatening condition, and besides it costs about 100k – currently I have 85c in my wallet and a plastic card that make laughing sounds if I swipe it for more than R100. The knife is not an option for me.”

“Well,” my wise mother concluded, “then you’re just going to have to get over it!”

Whahahahahahaha.  Like that’s ever going to happen.

I’m still feeling desperate!

I’m taking free advice – But I’m not taking crap advice!

My struggle is real people, my struggle is real!

Toodles

Xxx

  

Karma drama

I was as miserable as anyone could imagine, after spending 10k and having nadda to show for it. I kept asking myself why?  Why was I so gullible?  The only answer I have is that I am 'forever hopeful'. One day I will find a wrinkle cure.

I arrived at work particularly moody a few days ago. I was feeling like I needed to lash out at someone. Just be mean and upset someone. Why should I be upset on my own. Sharing is caring, right?  So why not share the misery?   

What I was forgetting is that Karma happens to keep herself firmly attached to my left heel.  There is no karma wheel for me. My karma is instant. I have experienced instant karma on countless occasions. I'm not entirely sure why I didn't think about this little curse of mine while I was searching for an unsuspecting victim. I tend to forget very important things like this. That's another curse I have. I forget..... a lot.

I walked out on to the playground. All the little ones were sleeping and just a handful of kids were playing on the playground. All my staff were huddled in the sun trying to defrost. A little boy came to ask me for some juice and that was when I launched my assault.

"Why are you all standing there while kids are thirsty over here?" I bellowed.
That got everyone's attention! And now that I had everyone's attention I could declare war.... me against them (I'm brave that way).
"What am I paying you for? To stand in the sun? - Kids are thirsty here - get here and fix this, all of you!" I shouted,  looking as angry as I could make myself.
"I won't have laziness here," I continued, "I won't stand for it! - If you want to stand in the sun you can do it at home, not while you're on my time!" With that,  I stormed off to my office. My long jersey-coat-thingy flying behind me. I felt powerful (and much better actually) I felt like a super villan. Wonder Witch - yes, I was Wonder Witch! 

I can't think of a time that I have ever seen people more confused.  The poor women had no idea what had just happened. All four had run forward to attend to one child and all four were fighting over the cup to pour him juice. They were rattled. They were looking at each other with questioning expressions.  But no one said a word. They served the juice, patted the boy on the head and went back to their spot in the sun completely dazed by my attack.

Once in my office again, I realized I needed to visit the lavatory . This is a very happy event for me as I have a very slow, lazy 'constitution'.
As I sat on the throne and started my business I was relishing in my sly and cunning assault. I snickered and smiled an evil smile.  Now we were all upset. Yay, I was no longer 'suffering' alone. Finishing up, I reached out at the toilet roll holder and there ........ where the toilet paper usually sits.......... sat karma.

What on earth was I going to do now?

Since I'd just pissed everyone off I was stuck. I couldnt exactly call them to bring me bog roll.
Karma sat there laughing at me, laughing so hard she was snorting. Oh this was dreadful. I couldn't think. I was overcome with embarrassment. I couldn't exactly sit there all afternoon either - I had to do something. But what?

"Ok, ok... just let the dust settle for about 20 minutes." I thought to myself. "Then I can call Chante."
Chante is my youngest, most forgiving member of staff. But how was I going to call her without letting anyone else know I was embarrassingly stranded in the lav?
"Ah ha, I'll phone her." I thought.
And so I did.....
"Hello lovey" I said as sweetly as I could muster, when she answered her phone.
"Are you okay, Aunty Nat" She asked, obviously hearing some desperation in my voice. (I just can't hide these things)
"No, I'm not sweety!" I said.
"Im very upset today and it's not your fault so I'm really sorry for shouting,  but more importantly I need some loo roll right away. Will you bring me some please?"
"Of course Aunty Nat" she said "I'll be there right now."   I cannot begin to express how dear this young girl is. She saved me that day. But you can be sure she had a great big 'behind my back' giggle.

I may never have seen her laughing but I know she did. She laughed and laughed, I'm sure of it. And as for instant Karma..... she got me again. And she laughed too. She laughed and laughed and laughed.

Patience is a virtue

For as long as I can remember, my mom has always said she believes that in this life time of mine I need to learn the art of patience. I think she's quite right - Patience is very far,(actually light years away),  from being one of my strong qualities.

After my unplanned suicide attempt with the bandage I thought better of it leaving my wrinkle problem in my own hands. Sometimes it's just best to let professionals do their jobs! So I went back to Dr Evil.

"Just pump me full of fillers!", I spat out.
"You are going to love this!" she exclaimed, trying to cheer me up.  "It makes a beautiful subtle difference. No one is going to know what's different, but everyone will notice a fresher more beautiful you!"  "This" she continued, "is much better than a face lift!"

The injecting started - I'm no sissy, but let me tell you, I felt a level of pain I was not prepared for. Jaw clenched and tears stinging my eyes, I lay there for almost an hour while she moved her little injection around and filled my face.
"Yes, yes, beautiful!" she said, every time she had finished an area.
"Well it better be," I kept thinking to myself. All this pain and all this money ... If I don't walk out of here looking like a 20 year old I may just have a coronary.

When she was done she handed me the mirror - "Just look" she said - "There is already a big difference."  I looked hard but couldn't see anything apart from the red dots from the needle pricks, and a not so pretty blue bruise on my chin.
"Wait for two weeks for the full effect and drink plenty of water in the meantime!" she instructed!
"Wait? What? Water? Is this woman mad?" I thought.
Perhaps she should have mentioned having to drink water after the procedure before she started.
I can't drink water. No! I have been preconditioned to live a very 'dry' life!  Water I cannot do!

Dreadful memories of my bed wetting days flooded my mind!
My poor folks tried everything. Star charts, presents, waking me up in the middle of the night, urologist visits - you name it!
Nothing worked - So they were left with no alternative but to seriously restrict my fluid intake!
They started off by saying that I couldn't drink anything after 6pm.  That didn't work - so they changed the time... nothing to drink after 4pm. That didn't work either.
Eventually, in a desperate attempt to help me wake up with a dry bed, my fluid intake was seriously restricted - all day, every day!
I eventually stop wetting the bed but got quite used to living the life of a camel, going extended periods without anything to drink.
At 42 years of age Dr Evil now wants me to learn a new trick!  I don't think so! I am a camel - not a puppy!
I just can't start wetting the bed again  - not now!
My marriage has survived many things: Fat wife,  thin wife, sane wife, crazy wife, lazy wife!
But bed wetting wife? No! I'm not prepared to put this one to the test! I could not put my marriage through the horror of bed wetting! NO!

It's been two weeks since I had my fillers. Has anyone noticed? NO!
Can I see a difference? NO!
Am I drinking water? HELL NO!
Has this caused me to waste a lot of money? HELL YES

So here I am - Not only am I still wrinkled but I'm out of pocket too!
On the bright side - I haven't wet the bed. I am thankful for this small mercy!

Toodles xx

A bright idea

After a lengthy discussion with myself I’ve decided that it’s going to take too long before I can rely on my son to treat my aging problem. Not that I don’t have confidence in him, I mean this kid is bringing home distinctions and all– but it’s going to be a number of years before he could potentially answer my prayers. So I have been seeking an ‘In the meantime quick fix!’ Something to get me through the next decade or so!

Fillers – Apparently this is the most popular non surgical route at the moment. So I booked my visit to the aesthetician. She had a real good look at my face! And even took some hideous photos – I swear that evil woman has an “ugly app” on her phone because she made me look worse than I have ever seen myself. She pointed out every flaw – most of which I had never even noticed. I mean, all I really didn’t like was the crow’s feet and the saggy jowls, but she made me see so much more…. And it was ugly – real ugly! Good marketing strategy there, Dr Evil! Well played!

Feeling more desperate than ever I said “Right – how much filler will I need to fix my face?” After some calculating she gave me what she referred to as a figure she had worked out on conservative amounts of filler that would be just enough to make me feel better, but not enough to make me wrinkle free! She proudly showed me her calculated total – TEN GRAND!

So fillers are not an option for me! I went home feeling glummer than Gilbert Grape. I ran a bath in the hope that I could soak away the nightmare images I had seen on Dr Evil’s phone hours earlier. As I took off my jersey I caught sight of my ‘muffin top’. Ordinarily I would have burst in to tears, but I was struck by the most ingenious idea I have ever had. THERE’S MY FILLER! I was going to use my muffin top to plump up my face! How you ask? Well, muffin tops are caused by tight pants on a chubby tummy so if I could wear some sort of body suit that pushed my muffin top up to my face then my problem would be solved!

I put on my tight jeans – My muffin top now ready for manipulating, I hauled out "the belly belt." I had been prescribed this belt – very kidney belt looking only much broader, after my hysterectomy – I put it on the tightest it could go and gawked at myself in the mirror. My muffin top had definitely moved – The belt was acting like a corset. It gave my lungs a new look! I quite liked the look! I knew Greg would to but quickly I reminded myself that my lungs were not my problem. I pulled the belt up over my lungs manipulating flesh and blubber but it just wouldn’t go in the direction I wanted it to and it ended up in my armpits. Now that was a sight. Fat armpits! Just beautiful! I kept manipulating my soft jelly bits, squeezing and wheezing along. While taking a break to give my arm muscles a little rest I happened to turn slightly and caught sight of my back in the mirror. Good heavens – I had given myself a hunch back. This was a disaster!

But I will not be defeated! So I ripped the belt off and headed to the medicine cabinet. I needed a bandage. If I tied the bandage around my neck tightly enough I could get the result I was looking for. And so I began the winding process. The bandage was pretty tight! I was taking short shallow breaths. I wasn’t concerned at first because I can hold my breath for about four minutes! I married an Olympic Flatulator – (Yes I know theres no such word but just shoosh, this is my story!) Anyhoo – the point is I’m used to holding my breath! The bandage was certainly creating some facial plumpness. I noticed I was looking redder than usual and my vision started to blur. I suddenly realised I was actually unintentionally committing suicide. The bandage was too tight, but any looser and there would be no effect! Just before passing out I managed to unwind the bandage! I am currently gulping air, but I am back at the drawing board! I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!

Toodles x

And so it begins

I have always been a "passionate" person. (I refrain from saying I have always been an obsessive person, because that just sounds so negative.)

My first passion was nail biting! From a wee little girl until13, I bit my nails - till they bled.

From 13 to 20 cigarettes were my thing. But, when Greg and I decided to have a baby, he who had never smoked a cigarette in his life, said no way could I carry his child while I was smoking. And so I very reluctantly gave up this passion.

After the pregnancy I developed my next obsession, oops, I mean passion... Being thin. I allowed myself a salad 3 times a week and thin I was. But after 3 years I wanted another baby. Try as we tried, nothing! The gynecologist advised that my body was in no condition to conceive and so my new passion became eating. I ate, I gained, I fell pregnant. Happy days! Unfortunately eating alone wasn't satisfying my passion needs so I took on another passion. Yes .... I was multi-passioning!

A 5 year passion in animal welfare lead me on an extreme path indeed. So extreme that I became a vegetarian, because eating animals was a cruel and vulgar practice. Living on bread alone I gained 30 kgs - in 9 months! No, there was not another "bun in the oven". I was just the size of an oven. A great big industrial oven. This passion left me with a 6cm hiatus hernia and I was strongly advised to lose weight.

So dieting became my passion again. But it was a half hearted passion this time. I mean I'd done this passion before. I was bored with it! So this passion didn't last long. I used work as a passion instead. I was working so hard that I didn't realize that I was gradually gaining weight again. With a dreadful bout of plantar fasciitis (in both feet) the ortho dude said I had to lose weight. AGAIN. And so a new passion emerged.

Banting! No, its not the same as dieting - it's far more controversial than dieting and so therefore cannot be seen as the same thing. 25kgs later I was feeling wonderful and not looking too bad either, but apparently it's frowned apon to walk around naked so I couldn't "show that shit off."

What is being "shown off" however, is the dreadful effects of aging. My face tells the tale of a chick who's young in the heart, old in the face and chronologically in between. I'm (not literally) dying for a face lift, but Greg says over his dead body. Since I'm strongly opposed to murder I'm stuck with my face.

So, a new passion emerges..... I am discretely trying to encourage my son to make me his "lab rat". He hasn't decided yet if he wants to go into bio chem or genetics but either way he could be the answer to my anti-aging prayers. Lord knows I have nurtured this kid, he owes me!! He could tweek my DNA and reverse the aging process for me - I could become the South African female version of Benjamin Button - Katinka Knoopie. Or, he could develop some miracle anti-aging cure and MY face could make HIM famous. He'd be rich and I'd be young! That's a win-win if you ask me.

I'm still working out the details of my current passion. All I can say is I'm passionately working on the plan. Standby for updates.

Toodles x