Who’s the fairest?

I HATE to be the bearer of bad news, but I have now been using a highly advertised shower product for the last month and I have not yet metamorphosed into Sarah Jessica Parker.
I’ve tried walking down red carpets, climbing through stationary limos — the lot but still nothing,
Alas, it has been a while now since I last wrote and perhaps now isn’t the best time as I now feel a bit fraudulent. Yes it has happened, I have been singled out, so I suppose I can’t say anything about false advertising.
I don’t want to tempt fate but things are on a plateau of good. The only flaw so far is that I haven’t found any flaws.
I was playing the sensible one-of-two on a night out recently and felt so sorry for some of the adolescents; drunk and making fools of themselves on the dance floor. Not because they were raving, yes raving, to Diana Ross’ Upside Down, but because only a few weeks, months, years before I could have been pigeonholed into this group. Now I had a fresh perspective on the scene.
I could just imagine them planning the night all week with their friends discussing what they were going to wear, when and where they would meet, who else would be out, then changing their minds about what they were wearing and what time they were going to meet.
I’ll let all of you men into a secret — the whole reason women take so long to get ready is because something on a hanger looks different on, so if you’re not sure what to wear, the entire contents of your wardrobe have to be tried on, just in case you find something lurking in the back that you haven’t had on since you were that size last time.
Then all of this has to be cleared away, because on the huge suggestion that you might not be coming home alone, you want no one to see just how much effort you’ve put in., Or more importantly, when you’ve just taken three hours to find your keys in your bag in the freezing cold, all you want to go is sink into you nice warm bed, without having to do an entire stock removal onto the floor.
Not only is there the multiple changing session, but each time a new outfit is put on it has to be checked against the following points:
Does my bum look big in this (Yes, that old chestnut still exists, even for girls with no derriere. Like myself. Yeah right).
Every angle has to be checked, with the use of as many mirrors as can be found, and collected together to a fitting room standard.
Music must be played and danced to, to perfect dance floor techniques to impress men who shall promptly fall at your well-heeled feet.
Then comes the sit down test, just to make sure your lower half garments do not a) ride up, b) burst or c) become overwhelmed by your summer excesses.
This test is then repeated for your top half — Are your bra straps noticeable? Have you formed bingo wings over night? Need I go on?
Is your outfit likely to be worn by someone else? And worse, will it look better on them? Or is it the opposite and no one would be seen dead in it?
And no it’s not a young thing — I’ve witnessed perfectly mature women doing exactly the same thing.
Do guys think like this? I know there has been a massive change in male vanity or their admission to it anyway. A recent survey shows that they are catching up with us gals in the screening and preening stakes.
So anyway, back to the dance floor, and to those young ladies, looking lovely, and dancing up to each other and giggling about eyes that or may not be looking in their glittering direction.
They know they look good because they’ve followed all the points that should be followed. Somehow though they think they need to slam a few shots; because that will impress the guys at the bar who are scanning and planning.
Jump forward to a few shot-soaked hours later and to the same two, drunk and making fools of themselves raving, yes raving. All their hard work completely out of the window, with the bar-flies going for those who haven’t turned into a pumpkin at midnight.
I see myself in them so much that it scares me, and I’m glad I’m being sensible and sober and sitting, Then again, may I’m doing some false advertising of my own.