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Plumping, by Britta Benson

This, I’m not afraid to admit, is based on a true story. If you’ve ever bought a women’s magazine, you’ll know they quite often come with ‘freebie’ cosmetics and products you didn’t even know existed and you’ve got to read the label to make sure you put them on the correct body part.

I don’t buy these magazines any more. I’m happily ancient. I do however have a few younger friends who enjoy the fashion, the beauty products and the ‘new stuff’. This is what happened, when one of my young friends bought a magazine and showed me her purchase.


My much younger friend

buys a women’s magazine.

I’m intrigued by the mystery freebie

that comes in a cellophane wrapper.

Plumping mist. Who would have thought?

How could I not? Hyaluronic, of course.

Only the best, put to the test.

High tech moisture to rejuvenate

my ever so slightly wizened skin

with the magic triumvirate:

quench, plump, brighten.

Doesn’t sound too bad.

Balance me,

I read, on the cute, miniscule bottle,

and I’m Alice. I try. By Jove, I try.

Spray youth into the atmosphere.

I walk right into the rainbow pearls,

my head wet, sticky, annoyed.

Wiser. I guess.

For now I know,

I’m well beyond plumping.

Once the mist dries,

I’ve got my lovely wrinkled face back.

Suits me just fine.


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