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I am past my peak and over the hill.

I seem to have reached the stage where glibly trilling "age is just a number" doesn't do the trick. It's not to do with how I feel inside - don't believe that bullshit. It's about how I look.

I look old and I look tired. My eyes do not sparkle, my hair does not shine, my skin does not glow. Never mind how sharp my wit, how glittering my conversation: I look dull, flat. I look like the kind of woman no-one looks at. No one tries to catch my eye.

And it's not that I've given up trying  -  on the contrary. I take longer than I ever did before on skincare routines, hair masques, finding just the right hair colour to match my own and cover up any greys. I spend more time than you'd believe on scrubbing, rubbing, soaking, poking and primping. All sadly to no avail as I still appear a crinkled, faded, Instagram version of my inner and formerly outer self.

Soon perhaps you will not give me a second glance. Soon perhaps you will think of me as an old friend, and kiss me hello on the cheek not the mouth, without the slightest twitch of your cock. Soon perhaps you will forget you ever knew me.

I was Best Before.