Used to think this was a brand of cat food.  Now understand Whiskers has closer links with the gradual transformation of women into moustachioed Mariachi band members – once they hit 50 (the women, not the rhythmic Muchachos).  Now I’m all for the big hat and the ruffly-cuffed shirts (well, I was at one point a New Romantic) but I’m finding that the combination of not wearing reading glasses when applying make-up has its draw-backs.

Point in question:  flounced out to dinner, fortunately with ‘of an age’ eating companion sans reading glasses once the menu browse was over, only to find the hair I thought was in my soup was actually attached to my top lip.  Upside?  I can easily measure up a gap to slip through when an embarrassingly fast exit is called for….which it wasn’t.  The 14 year old waiter probably just wondered what I was doing outside my gentleman’s club at this hour.



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