I am vile. The greasy products of my selfindulgent life ooze through widened pores. Well healed people are rightly wary of the ruddy sheen on my skin. My brow has a moutainous wrinkle which, having raised to make so many unladylike remarks will no longer sit down. I scrape the lazy, grasping choices of my life back into an oily ponytail everyday. Fat plumps and pads my cheeks and thighs...
Hang on. That's definitely the last time I read two copies of Vogue in a row.
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