After a good reciprocal grumble with a dear blogging friend (by email, as it goes) I felt sufficiently cheered to try and put on a happy face.
Literally. With paint and polyfilla etc.
In my brazen youth I favoured four inches of slap (warpaint, makeup) around the eyes; no foundation cream because it always made my alabaster skin look pasty and my freckles look black. It was a bold look, and whilst I hate to rely on what works (in the way that some men have steadfastly worn sideburns since 1969), hell, it does work, and whats more, its coming back into fashion for this autumn.
How sad is that.
Shut up, because I don't care, OK?
So I was thinking I would update the profile muppet shot here, because hey, camouflage by colour has to be better than the hair tent method, right?
Extreme overexposure on the other hand, that covers just about every sin you've got going; like so:
Its official. I am going to become one of those Baby Jane style old weirdos who keeps dirty mirrors or none at all, just to live in fantasy land.
P.S. Someone I am irked by had a fit of play nice and volunteered to help by taking the shot. I did not trust the outcome. Can you tell? Like I said, no tickle. None whatsoever.