After hitting the 40s, I've discovered to my horror that crows' feet look way better on crows. They just don't suit me one bit. What makes me even more dyspeptic is that, despite my failing eyesight, I've noticed that a lot of women 20 years older than me look about 30 years younger. Hey, I've seen them air-kissing on television and Page 3! Okay, so the rest of their bodies don't quite match their youthful faces but so what - they still look more presentable than I do.

I foolishly assumed that it's because they have led squeaky clean lifestyles in their youth, loading up on colourful organic salads (an euphemism for insect-infected, puke-inducing, ridiculously expensive raw veggies), spending quality time with their personal trainers, using sun block religiously, shunning nicotine, alcohol and French fries and other far-sighted strategies. Unlike poor old self-indulgent, myopic me. But no, my savvy women of the world friends say, it's because those older women have pawned the family silver and broken into the pension fund to pay for cosmetic surgery and Botox jobs, among other things.

The real tragedy is, I cannot - absolutely cannot - bring myself to do what they're doing. Not because I'm an annoying never-been-waxed or blow-dried earth-mother type who heartily booms, 'You shallow person, ageing is a natural process, enjoy!'

Not at all. The truth is, I yearn to look at least 35 again. I would willingly sell my soul to Beelzebub for it if need be; but I cannot deal with the repercussions and pain. So, I'm a wimp, big deal.

Obnoxious Aussie actor, Russell Crowe, has made me realise that going under the knife to look hot just ain't worth it. It may, as he said about steamy Basic Instinct star, Sharon Stone, make me look like an orang-utan or a startled chimpanzee. Why should I suffer acute pain to look like an extra from Planet of the Apes? That's not my role model.

Botox is out of the question too, since doctors always have to call the centre for reinforcements when I'm compelled to have injections. Apart from the fear of needles piercing me, I have other issues with Botox, thanks to my uber-active imagination. What if the cosmetologist has a secret drinking problem and her hands shake and miss the target when she inserts the needle? What if a common housefly (musca domestica) happens to sit on her hand at a crucial moment? What if she received her Botox-administering certificate from a lecherous male examiner, not due to God-given talent but thanks to silicone-aided vital statistics? The wrong part of my face may be paralysed and I will be condemned to cover up for six months at least.

So, I will just have to do other things to prevent helpful airline reservations staff from giving me senior citizen discount forms to fill and tenderly enquiring if I'd like to book their wheelchair service to board the aircraft.

The only natural way I can get my face to stop looking like a crumpled, morning-after bedsheet, is by using both hands (thank God I'm ambidextrous) to lift my cheeks. This makes me look like my name is Ho Lee Sheet and much as I admire the Chinese for their ability to pick up fine grains of rice with knitting needles, I prefer large eyes. Also, I need my hands to do far more important things like conveying slices of pepperoni pizza to my mouth.

There's light at the end of the tunnel though. I read about this new instant non-invasive anti-wrinkle thingiimajig called Freeze 24/7. Apparently, it works like a miracle - you walk in looking like a creature the world forgot and walk out a minute later looking like a million dollars. I suspect that's how much a tiny bottle costs too. Why I'm excited is that some dermatologists have pooh-poohed the product, saying that it's like applying glue on your face to reduce skin movement.

That's marvellous if you ask me and I can jolly well do this myself at home. So, I will rummage around in the drawer for a tube of glue. Fret not, I shan't apply it on my face, I'm not senile yet. I shall sniff it instead to feel more light-hearted about life. Granted, it may make me giggle a lot and that will further deepen the laugh lines around my eyes, but I'll be too deliriously happy to give a damn about ageing any more!