The amazing lizard lady

Me at my mirror in the morning.

I have long thought that I have a little reptile in me. Not that I lay eggs or eat insects, but there are other, more subtle, signs. Such as the need to go and sun myself after sitting in the frigid conditions of air-conditioned offices (yes, that’s you, South Coast Register). And a preference for hibernation during cold weather.

But the lizard-like characteristic that has come most to the fore in these days of ‘late youth’ (ahem) is that I now have scales rather than skin.

I can no longer apply foundation or powder to my face without moisturising like a bandit for half an hour beforehand. Otherwise the scales show. And I’m not talking a little light Oil of Olay daily moisturising fluid. I’m talking night repair cream. In the morning.

I now not only constantly rub paw-paw ointment into my lips. I have to run it across my hairline because it’s always peeling. (Yes, Mum, I know, I should wear a hat. But I can’t wear a hat, because it scrapes against my poor hairline. And so it goes.)

The backs of my hands are so dry I actually shed skin there like a snake, and my feet – well, it would be in poor taste to describe them. Let’s just say that hot footpaths don’t bother me overmuch.

I also have this rash that comes and goes (can you tell me what it means?) on my décolletage (love that word), and when it comes it makes me look like a freshly plucked pterodactyl*.

And I know reptiles don’t have hair, but if they did it would be like mine. You could scrub pots with it.

I can’t blame the fact that I live in a desert for all of this either. The scales were growing before I left my bit of Australia, which was so wet you could get foot rot from going without gumboots.

Instead, I blame the fact that I had oily skin in my youth and so developed an aversion to icky moisturiser that I didn’t overcome until my late thirties. Too late!

But I’m trying to see the bright side. Snakeskin clothing is in fashion, so I’d better get me some of that. And I guess I can claim to be wearing very expensive gloves made from the tender bellies of baby crocodiles, which would be a very ridiculous and Dubai-ish thing to do. Ditto shoes.

Finally, I am prepared to offer my skin (post-mortem, preferably) to makers of handbags. I think I would look quite stylish.

Is there something you are starting to resemble as you reach ‘late youth’?

* Yes, I know pterodactyls didn’t have feathers. Just messing with ya.