Chapter Twenty-Two
Meet hot MILFs in your area
It’s May, and for some reason, Merlyn has decided to come with me for my monthly review at Yuvana Labs. We meet in Kensington at midday on the square that Yuvana overlooks, under a tree weighed down with cherry blossom. The air is warm at last, and I finally have an excuse to expose my blemish-free legs for the first time in many, many years. I’m wearing a new denim skirt and chunky trainers, with a sweatshirt and no jacket, plus a bum bag (Tourist Core), although they don’t seem to be called that now. Maybe bums aren’t de rigueur anymore. Who knows.
As Merlyn and I greet, and do our usual kiss on both cheeks, petals fall onto her shoulders and hair. We walk together through the glass sliding doors, towards the reception desk, which is manned by The Human Reel again today. She is writing in a pink journal withYou are more than this momenton the front, while eating a selection of berries that are lined up in multi-coloured rows in a heart-shaped bowl. I think I prefer Glazed Doughnut.
I sit down while Merlyn, who is today channelling Katharine Hepburn in wide-legged mustard trousers and a silk blouse, talks to The Human Reel, tapping her perfect burgundy nails on the reception desk as she does so. At one point I hear The Human Reel say to Merlyn, ‘I’ll pass that on to him’ but I can’t make out anything else. After a few minutes, Peach Jumpsuit appears, in an orange jumpsuit that is thankfully just tight enough to stop her from looking like the inmate of a US penitentiary. Instead of taking me into the oligarch lightingroom, she directs me (‘This way, pleasssssssse’) through another door, which leads into the room with the lockers and the smell of mint. Merlyn remains in reception, cherry blossom petals still in her hair, tapping away on her oversized phone. Frankly, I’m not sure why she even bothered coming along.
Then it’s paper pants, robe, and photo after photo – plus the usual endless and increasingly tedious questions about how I’m feeling physically (still bloody excellent), how I’m feeling emotionally (same) and what reactions or comments I’ve received from others about my transformation. I gloss over the last question as I don’t want to get into the issues I’ve been having with my friends, and instead change the subject by asking Peach Jumpsuit where Dr Marcus is. Dealing with some ‘pressing matterssssssss’, it transpires.
I come back out into reception and Merlyn is nowhere to be seen, which is quite annoying as I have been dreaming about theChariot de Fromagesat Brasserie Zédel, especially the Comté, which is apparently matured in caves. I must tell Gabe about it. JEEZ – where did that come from? Gabe is part of my old life – I need to focus on my new one now. It’s all about progress. Positive change. Although, on the subject of cheese, which I willnotbe consigning to my old life, the hunt for a decent deli near Devon’s flat continues. The area is very different from my hometown in Wiltshire and although that’s exactly what I want, it is proving difficult when it comes to procuring good cheese. I’ve had to suspend my Say Cheese subscription box as they won’t redirect it, and the locally available Sainsbury’s Favourite Cheese Selection certainly does not represent any of my favourites at all, including as it does a Wensleydale with cranberries. What an abomination.
Later, back at Devon’s, I open the front door to find a note has been pushed under it. Well, I say note – it’s a torn-off section of a Domino’s pizza box with a barely legible message written in what appears to be green Sharpie. After a brief moment of concern, during which I think it must be a complaint about the volume at which I playedClubland Classix: Ultimate 90s Anthemslast night, I see it’s from the young woman in the lift, who I’ve seen a couple of times since the Austin Powers incident, and lives two floors below. She is, it turns out, called Zoe. Or Zoo. Or ‘200’, like some sort of rapper’s name, perhaps? But I think it’s Zoe.
Excitingly, she has written her phone number on the pizza box and is inviting me round to her flat tomorrow evening, so perhaps my mortifying display in the lift that day was more endearing than I imagined. This will definitely be more exciting than a Christmas Fair, Keith. Thank goodness I’ve already emailed Channing for some tips on speaking in the ‘parlance of our times’ – which, incidentally, is a quote fromThe Big Lebowski, and not something I would say. I don’t think.
Now it’s time to get ready for my next Instagram Live. It’s the#ama– ‘Ask Me Anything’ – which Channing has been helping organise. As per his emailed instructions, I posted on the WULT® Woman Instagram account last night asking people to submit questions, and glancing through them, they look pretty much like the ones I get in the comments. ‘Does it hurt?’ (not really); ‘Is your whole body younger, not just your face?’ (yes); ‘Do you regret it?’ (not one bit). It’s a relief that there’s nothing too personal… I was slightly concerned people would ask things like ‘Are you having better sex?’. I’m not sure how to answer this without bringing up Gwyneth Paltrow, and I don’t think this is what she would want. We might even end up having a conscious uncoupling.
Channing has told me it’s not enough just to answer the questions during an#ama– I have to do something else at the same time. So, I’ll be talking my viewers through a new make-up tutorial, to show them the young looks they could try once they’ve had the treatment. I was going to do Clean Girl but I have it on authority (Channing) that this is now passé. It’s all about the Mob Wife aesthetic now, apparently, which is a ‘fierce trend’ evoking Carmela Soprano and says, ‘Hold my martini’ not ‘Where’s my matcha?’. Sounds right up my street to be honest.
A few minutes before I go live, I remember that Cassia has done quite a lot of these#amasessions on Instagram, so I scroll through her profile to get some pointers. I notice that when she is thinking about a question, she does this pouty face and puts her finger on her lips, then when she thinks of the answer she appears to be pleasantly surprised at something approaching her from the side. When I try this out, the result is more akin to having just spotted an intruder hiding behind the kitchen island. Why does Cassia always look so bloody effortless? Well, the tide is turning. I got the WULT® treatment, not you, Cassia – and soon I’ll have more followers too. Well, WULT® Woman will… So you can wipe that#invisalignjourneysmile off your face, once and for all.
The#amabegins. With Devon’s monstera in the background, and with me wearing a fluffy pink headband (#gifted) to keep my hair off my face, I start by showing theBefore and Afterpics that Yuvana took and chatting through what the procedure was like. Then I begin applying the ‘Mob Wife’ make-up: smoky eyes, a lot of bronzer and nude lips. It’s all fairly straightforward – I just have to talk through what I’m doing, show off my jawline as much as possible and wax lyrical about how WULT® transformed my life. At the same time, I have been instructed to ignore any messages in the chat that ask me if I want to buy bitcoin or ‘meet horny MILFs in your area’ and instead focuson the ones with heart emojis that are from the women with a quarter of a million to spare. How difficult can it be?
Not that difficult, and considerably less so when I remember that my next payment from Yuvana will be in my account tomorrow. Even better – so far, there have been no banana voice incidents and no imaginary flies in the room. I’ve managed to answer six questions, only ignoring two: ‘Would you rather own a dragon or be a dragon?’ (Sorry@mystical_lynsey02, but I think you took a wrong turn somewhere on the internet) and ‘If women ageing naturally freaks you out this much, maybe ask yourself why?’ (Calm down@sunnydayswithsonia, it’s not exactly hurting you). Then, just as I’m spritzing on some Donatella Giusti Volcanic Power Setting Mist to complete the look, I see something that makes me accidentally squirt it right into my eye: ‘@cassicaljoined’. I’d recognise that username anywhere.
