I’ve got a wedding to go to soon and I’ve been trying to find the right dress for ages. You know how it is, nothing is quite right, too short, too tight, too flowery. Anyway a couple of weeks ago I found it – it was perfect, flattering, comfortable and could easily go from day to evening. I was so pleased but as I was getting dressed I caught a glimpse of my bum in the mirror. Oh wow, all I could see was dimples! Well that was it, I didn’t want the dress, I didn’t want to shop, I just wanted to get out and find a solution.

I have spent an absolute fortune over the years on expensive creams, body wraps, gadgets to pummel my thighs until they are red raw, all with little effect.

I am forgetful. There, I said it. My name is Sally and I’m memory impaired. There should be self help meetings for folks like me. We could call it the Forgetful People Society. Unfortunately it would likely disband quickly. The members would forget to show up.

I can’t even blame my lapse in memory to my advancing years because I remember forgetting (is that an oxymoron?) from a very young age. I can’t tell you how many conversations in my youth went something like this:

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