I have always said that I’d have almost everything Harley Street had to offer done if I was to win the lottery, but ageing is something that doesn’t particularly trouble me. I’m proud of the lines on my face. I’ve earned every single one of them. In fact, a young looking face would rather go against my aim to grow old disgracefully. By everything, I mean the things I’ve disliked about myself from a young age. My real reason for wanting botox however, is far more simple than that. To stop people reading my face.
If I had a pound for every time I’ve managed to offend someone by not quite managing to look suitably delighted when their devil child waddled across the room unaided, or at a ‘happy’ couple’s plan to buy a house and tell me about the history of every sodding brick and how Horatio simply MUST have room for his art supplies to unleash his inner Van Gough, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing for you losers, I’d be off sunning on the roof terrace of my custom built castle. Having a face that gives away your every thought is a curse. If only I was more like my eldest sister.She is lovely. Seriously, you’d LOVE her. She will listen to your every woe, look you right in the eye and lie to you. She’ll do it for all the right reasons, of course. You’ll lap it up, of course you will. She’s telling you you’re beautiful. That your child is the brightest, your outfit is the coolest and your hair is like gold spun by angels. And you WILL believe her. She’ll look at you earnestly and you’ll think ‘Wow, that woman is so NICE. Nothing like her evil troll of a sister who snorted when I said I’d lost half a stone on the maple syrup diet.’ And who can blame them? Even I’d love my sister and want to dropkick me across a muddy field.. Nobody wants the truth. Not really.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a nice person. Honest! I just find it hard to hide my feelings. My face isn’t the only problem. If I don’t say what I think, it eats away at me. I’m not talking about little white lies here, we all tell them. I mean when someone asks me for my honest opinion about something important. I’ll always ask if they want me to be honest and if the answer is yes, I’ll tell them what I think. What I REALLY think. Cue drama, because it turns out, they didn’t want the truth. I’m not stupid, I don’t go around throwing insults at people. I just can’t pretend if asked.
Now let me clarify something here. I’m not mean spirited. I understand that when someone asks if their bum looks big in a dress, you tell them they look great and slowly steer them towards something more flattering . I get all that. I’d hate to knowingly hurt someone’s feelings. Like I said, I’m nice. But when there’s something important at stake, I can’t lie. My biggest bug bear is when you’re upset with someone and they ask you why. I will always try to avoid the question because no-one, including me, wants to hear criticism. But if I care enough to ask, I’m strong enough to hear it. I may not like it, and I might tell them I disagree with them, but I asked to hear it and I can’t resent them for telling me. And fundamentally, I believe that if you don’t tell someone they’re hurting you, they can’t do anything about it. If you do tell them and they choose not to do anything about it, well then you know where you stand. I’m a big girl, I can take it. I’d much rather be hurt by the truth than be comforted with a lie.
There are 2 exceptions here. Families and partners. Families are weird. Nobody, not a soul understands your family like you do. It’s complicated. Things aren’t what they seem and a lot happens behind closed doors. Unless you had a Waltons-esque upbringing, you’ll know what I mean by that. You hate them and you love them. Or at least some of them. I have a more difficult relationship than most with my family. I fell out spectacularly with a friend on twitter last year, who kept offering unwanted advice on how I should or shouldn’t act with my family. It’s not the first time. I lost one of my best friends over a row about my family. There are members of my family I’m fiercely protective of and there are others I don’t speak to at all. I have my reasons and if you know me, you’ll know that it’s not a decision I would have taken lightly. I don’t think it’s asking much to expect some loyalty from your friends, so if you can’t do that, out you get.
This is important, so read it carefully…NEVER TELL THE TRUTH ABOUT A PARTNER. Statistics are wasted on shit like crime and exam results. What we really want to know is how many friends have been turfed out into the street, one stiletto in hand, for admitting after a few gins that “Your Eddie, he’s a bit of a twat.” All your girlfriends have been thinking it. Eddie, IS a bit of a twat. He’s smug, he’s a snob, his penis extension car gets more attention than your friend and his best mate is a hybrid of every character in The Royle Family. His mum looks a bit like Cherie Blair and thinks your friend isn’t good enough for her son and your friend is starting to believe it. We’ve all been there and we’ve all kept schtum. Because contrary to popular opinion, we’re not complete morons. We’ve all had boyfriends/girlfriends who’ve been bad for us. Everyone has known it. Deep down, we’ve known it. But love is strange, as Dirty Dancing keeps telling me and we just can’t quite accept it at the time.
So you see, having an expressive face can be a curse, as can being a bit too honest. But there’s a fine line between being asked to give your opinion and forcing it on someone. Maybe I’m contradicting myself. Maybe we’ve all got a right to speak our minds no matter what. Maybe we should just stop over thinking it and eat a doughnut. That might just be the smartest thing I’ve said in this whole blog.