Men will drool

Bad Lindy's precious gift of a man has been averted, at least in my case, and with Dave the decorator building Vicky's garden shed very, very slowly - he's depressed this week - she does, at least, have some protection. No man, however keen, will want to risk Dave and his Stanley knife.

This worry out of the way, I am able to concentrate on the invitation we've just received. 'Dress: glam,' it says.

It's such a shame. Here I am, well versed in looking raddled, desperate, hungover or tired separately or together, all at the drop of a pelvic floor, yet people will insist on opting for the hope over experience route. I give it my best shot, though, and after some intensive work, assemble a dazzling range of looks to enchant my fellow party-goers.

Look 1:
With blusher and free range eyebrows that are bursting out in every direction to celebrate the arrival of Spring
Effect: woman embarrassed to discover that she's been attacked by a pair of long-haired woodlice.

Look 2:
With blusher and plucked eyebrows.
Effect: Woman who can now see how old she is and is very, very surprised

Look 3:
With eye liner.
Effect: Surprised woman with very small eyes

Look 4:
With mascara.
Effect: Woman who has replaced woodlice with a pack of spiders to block out view of the mirror

Look 5
With lipstick.
Woman who, thanks to the mascara, cannot see to apply lipstick, and simply looks drunk

Look 6:
With more lipstick.
Ageing woman who is trying to catch up with her lips as they slide down her face in a bid to escape from face forever and find a new home on a younger, fresher complexion

Look 7:
With all of the above and the addition of alcohol.
Ageing woman who no longer knows what she looks like. And doesn't give a damn.

I suppose I could always slather myself in Motherpucker lip gloss and go as a gigantic pout.

Men will drool.....in terror.