Orange. The new Brown.

There are so many orange coloured people about now.
I think it started out as a quick way of getting a suntan that went wrong, but now it’s become a new label of celebrity. 
Like torn jeans.  Marilyn Monroe wouldn’t have worn torn jeans, only poor people did that.  And then, a few years ago, some skinny model somewhere wore them and appeared in ‘Hello, Look at Me!” magazine and now all the fashion followers wear torn jeans.

In “OK, So I’m Great!” magazine there are scores of young, silicone enhanced, orange women.  They are smiling through bloated lips and hanging off the pinstripe-suited arms of confused looking footballers. 
Orange skin = Celebrity life style.  That’s good enough for Josephine Public, we don’t have to worry about the suntan thing anymore, we can skip that and go straight to the orange.

And as for wrinkles, moles and grey hair!  Who needs those?

Well, they are nature’s brass rubbing of your existence.  They are the map of your life drawn in flesh.

When you step through the golden gates of whichever particular heaven you believe in, all your false dyes will wash away.  Colour-blind angels will run their hands over your body to read your life, as if they are reading Braille. Don’t confuse them by filling in your lines and cracks, and by sanding down your bumps and imperfections. Be proud of your scars and the badges of your age.

Why should you be ashamed when compared to the young?

“Hey, you sad youngsters! Look what I’ve carried and how far I’ve come!”

“P*ss off you old git!” they will no doubt reply.


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