Gravity

There was a piece of cotton stuck in my eye on Monday morning. Somewhere, a tiny fairy is cursing about where all their odd socks get to. Now we know.

Anyway, that, together with a massive hayfever attack, resulted in my waking up looking like none other than Satan’s Auntie. It was a really scary look although Mip didn’t seem too fussed which is a worry. It was very unfortunate. Poor me.

The doctor told me the conjunctiva (how grose does that sound) that had gathered around my eyeballs had also migrated under my eyes into hand luggage sized bags sitting on my cheekbones, because of what???!!! Gravity.

Bloody Gravity! Now, I’ve heard it all. It’s one thing to accept there is a reason why last year’s clothes look so different this year. It’s even fair to accept it when the labels in your underwear drawer use the word ‘support’ more often than a construction site manual. But when your face starts sliding off your skull, it’s time to do something about it, man.

So that’s it. I’m getting the carrots and celery into that juicer and dusting those Tai Chi videos I promised myself I’d practice religiously a hundred years ago. Gravity, my arse (well actually… that’s another thing…)

Maybe if I lived like a vampire and hung upside down at night, I might beat gravity. Hell, they do it with roses while they’re drying out. Hmm, now there’s yet another issue…