Thursday 18 December 1997
It is Christmas Party week and this is the week I have finally had my plastic surgery. Very bad timing. The irony of the whole thing is that while I was worried that the bandages on my jaw would detract from my sexy little party frock, the whole job was so neat that the centimetre- square bit of tape is scarcely noticeable.
It's the other thing that is literally an eye- sore. You see, my plastic surgery was necessary - I was not doing the bride of Wildenstein thing (don't want to get graphic about it, but the removal of a mole). So vanity did not enter into the equation. Then, making small talk with my surgeon - boob jobs are apparently the most popular ops at the moment - I suddenly thought, this is one man I don't have to worry about appearing vain in front of. Vanity is after all his bread and butter. So I sort of casually asked his opinion on a tiny red mark below my eye. "We can laser it off," he said. "What do you think nurse? Shall we throw it in as a freebie?" He had a quick look at the rest of my face to see if there was anything else he could laser off while he was at it, and before I knew it, zap, a tingling sensation, a faint smell of burning and it had gone. Apparently this little blast would normally cost about pounds 500, so I was delighted. A sort of facial Christmas Bonus.
By the time I got home the zapped area had turned into an unpleasant scab, and the eye was looking on the "he beats me" side. I'm a single girl going to a party - I cannot look like this. I frantically rooted around my make-up bag, looking for green cream to hide the now beacon- like zap wound, and the phone rang. It was a friend with a bulletin about her Christmas party that night. She went to get changed into her party gear, then noticed she was wearing greying baggy knickers - always a sign that you need to do some laundry. Her gym bag contained a similar example, so she was forced to nip out to make a little purchase. In M&S she selected a suitably lacy g-string and also bought two bottles of champagne to fill up her basket. As she stood at the checkout a middle aged woman behind her announced to the rest of the queue, which includes a guy from her office, "What an interesting combination. Two bottles of champagne and sexy underwear. Someone is in for a good night!"
But you've got to be prepared - you can be sure that the day you wear the eight-year-old knickers and haven't shaved your legs Mr Wonderful is going to make the suggestion that you can't refuse. Knickers are changeable, legs are shaveable, but what can you do about a zap wound? Nothing. Well one thing I suppose.
If you are at a party this week and you see a girl wearing a Marlene Dietrich style eye patch, don't worry, it's not fancy dress, it's just me and my vanity. Are eye patches sexy, I wonder? Watch this space.
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