A friend of mine, who will go unnamed but she knows who she is, recently mentioned she was thinking of having some work done.
"Oh, you know. A nip here, a tuck there. I could go to a spa and come out looking refreshed and rejuvenated."
"I don't think you'll like spa food," I told her. I mean, I know about these things because at the Garth household we are assiduous readers of Paddington Bear and there's that one chapter where he goes to the spa. Long story short, Paddington finds spa food is tasteless and served in insufficient amounts. He smuggles in jars of marmalade, distributes it to the spa patrons and mayhem ensues. Which, come to think of it, sort of describes every Paddington Bear story. Anyway, point is, I am practically a leading expert on spa food!
"Johanna," she said raising her eyebrows. "Spa food is amazing."
I didn't think she would buy my Paddington Bear theory so instead I tried another tack. "It's surgery. You know that, right? I mean, every time you have surgery there's a chance something could go wrong." I would have added the possibility of syringes being sewn back inside her skin or googled horrible botched facelifts but she already gives me a hard time about my obsession with avian flu.