Elizabeth March 16th, 2010

Look at the smug expression on that girl’s face.

She has no pain in her hips, she’s never had a filling and doesn’t need to drop her teeth in a glass of water each night. There are no cavernous wrinkles in her forehead, she doesn’t know which aisle to find the prunes in, and she doesn’t even know whether Ridge is married to Brooke or Taylor these days.

I’m sorry, is she too good for Bold and the Beautiful?

In a few minutes that girl will go to bed, and when she wakes up she will be thirty. Her bones will creak and her hair will be grey and she’s probably going to find herself with a dozen or so cats that will need to be fed. She will smell constantly of talcum powder and Dencorub, and every word that ends in an “S” will be followed by the high-pitched whistle of her dentures. All of a sudden she’ll be planning her crossword puzzle sessions around that show with the pedi-egg demonstrations and she will have a favourite reclining chair that always makes her sleepy.

That last part sounds pretty good, actually.

Perhaps the girl in that photo will just catch the tram to work as usual tomorrow, go for a run in the afternoon, and then open her presents. And maybe a cute boy will order Indian takeaway and snuggle up on the couch with her and tell her that she doesn’t look a day over twenty-nine.

I guess she shouldn’t rule that out.

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