Crossing the (bikini) line

I’m not sure whether there’s something tattooed on my inner thigh that says ‘Make ageist remarks please’ but, following my doctor’s comment about my career dead-end during a smear test, I have now been written off as over the hill while having my legs waxed.

Admittedly my beauty therapist appeared to be fresh out of kindergarten, but when I told her I had recently broken up with my boyfriend and was thus going to be spending the weekend having slumber parties with friends to distract me, she said, “Aw, that’s nice. I suppose sleepovers are fun no matter how old you are.” All at once, not only was I single but ancient and in agony as, with her novice depilating skills, my waxer-slash-toddler ripped the hairs out of my unanaesthetised flesh. It doesn’t get much more glamorous than that.

I would have retaliated with a beautifully-crafted and caustic remark concerning her limited intellect and questionable people skills but, feeling somewhat vulnerable while wearing only my underwear and holding my left leg in the air, I decided to hold my tongue as well. I later withheld my tip, tiny revenge for an imperceptible insult, but it made me feel better. Antique, alone - but refusing to endorse tactlessness in the young. At least I've still got my principles.