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Talking About Faces

A few months ago I was generously given a phone as mine kept dying on me and the battery was one of those irreplaceable ones.

I duly set-up facial recognition in addition to a password.

Unfortunately, since then it has only recognised my face... maybe once.

I can't decide whether on the day I set it up I was looking astonishing gorgeous or Completely hideous... or perhaps like a female version of Boris Johnson.

I think Boris and I have a lot in common at the moment. He looks completely shagged-out running the country during the pandemic and the Brexit crisis; I looked completely shagged-out through the stress of my elongated divorce. We both look our ages of 55. I used to look ten years younger but lately, I am looking battered.

The only real differences between us are that  Boris has a 32-year-old girlfriend, a top job and a stack of cash whereas I have two cats, a tea cosy and haemorrhoids.

It's a man's world.











This post first appeared on The Witty Ways Of A Wayward Wife, please read the originial post: here

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Talking About Faces

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