You and I, we're about the same age. I'm older than you by a few months. But how different are our lives! Your photo graces the cover of every other magazine. And me, I'm the kind that reads the magazines while waiting at the school gate for my children to return. My body has borne the scars of two childbirths. My skin is sallow and my boobs resemble used tea bags. You on the other hand, look stunning. Everything about you is pert and taut and pointing north. You are every schoolboy's fantasy.
But someday all of this will go. You will struggle to retain your looks as it slips through your splayed fingers like fine sand. You will languish for hours in front of the mirror dreading the arrival of a new crinkle, a new crease. You will spend an inordinate amount of time fighting it. You will seek help surgically, pharmaceutically, therapeutically. But eventually, you will succumb. What a rude shock that will be!
And one such day I'll open a magazine and inside it, I'll find a photo of you. Wrinkled, looking more your age. And I will smile at the little caption at the bottom.'Former Beauty Queen'.