If you want to know a woman's age

Mary stared at Caroline's hands gripped firmly around her mug and wondered to herself if she was once more busily daydreaming of strangling her husband. With every year of marriage the crimes deemed punishable by death lessened in seriousness so that now he could be sentenced for the heinous act of merely breathing or continuing to exist. His only hope for survival a sane jury of his peers. If Caroline was judge and executioner then he's in real trouble. Mary’s focus intensified on the hands and more specifically the veins popping out which reminded her of two giant ridged crisps. Not quite as manly and hardened as McCoys, maybe something a little more feminine, like a Seabrook's. Her nails are the definition of perfection as usual, French tipped, dazzling in the sunlight pouring through the window. All the better to gouge Michael's eyes out given half the chance. Mary looks up, caught unaware that Caroline was staring at her. She tried to control her body's natural urge to show surprise on her face, having been caught completely on the hop. Instead catching herself remarkably quickly for a woman of her advancing years, she composes herself and she forces herself into a smile and flicks her eyebrows quickly up and down. Now she's simply showing off. Some might even suggest she's taking the piss. In moments of boredom listening to Caroline's latest round of woes she often wishes that she was a casting director and that her friend is auditioning. OK now I want you to show me a look of surprise. Maybe try anguish? OK let's maybe try just one more… Give me a raised eyebrow and a quizzical look. If she was a compilation CD from the 90s she'd be all filler and no killer. Mary's mum, wise old sage that she is always says if you want to know a woman's age, look at her hands and not at her face and as we've already ascertained the answer lies within Seabrook's bordering on McCoys and definitely more the latter after a week of sunshine in the Algarve. 

Mary thinks back to the day she thought Michael had finally snapped as she stood aghast at the sight of Caroline's blackening swollen lips. It's dangerous to assume, even more dangerous to vocalise those assumptions for words once spoken can never be taken back. Transpires it wasn't Michael at all but a Ukrainian girl whose name wasn't important enough for Mary to remember, who'd been paid what sounded like a small fortune to Mary, to leave her looking like she'd been punched in the mouth. I'd have done it with my fist for a tenner. She didn't say that one out loud either. 

There's an art to growing old gracefully. Mary was trying her level best to embrace everything going south, in turn the hot sweats, the ever increasing laughter lines on her forehead. Note laughter lines are cheaper to deal with than wrinkles. No French tips for her, not much use when you're pottering about in the garden. She much prefers to slide her feet into her wellies than squeeze them into heels. The world will now just have to accept I'm a short arse and learn to deal with it. The only thing figure hugging is now for support purposes only, no need to draw attention to the additional lumps and bumps that weren't there in your 20s. Chunky knitwear in the winter under which you could house a few stray cats and still have room to spare. Even summer dresses only now came out on special occasions as she found her thighs would chafe on the rare occasion the sun actually paid a visit to England. 

If ever you need a perfect example of acceptance and denial you've found two perfect case studies sat around the one table. Mary took a large mouthful of her coffee and licked the centre of her lips top and bottom with a great deal of satisfaction. She stares at Caroline's lips and doesn't feel pity for her friend who won't get the same level of enjoyment from her beverage but instead for the poor sod who'll have to spend five minutes trying to wash the gunk off the mug later when they've left.

The silence between the pair is finally broken by a large growling noise which appears to be emanating from Mary's stomach. “Oh dear I am sorry about that. I think it wants cake, would you like a slice too?” 

Just for the briefest of moments Mary thought she saw horror in her friends face but she couldn't be sure under all that filler. 

Please feel free to leave a comment if you liked the post, or offer constructive criticism if you didn't. If you did like it please check out the rest of the posts or consider sharing with a friend. Thank you for taking the time to read my work nevertheless it's greatly appreciated.