After consulting with ...um ... a consultant, I must correct some errors in the previous post:
Lulu is youthful and sexy, and has excellent eyesight. She does not color her hair; it is naturally L'Oreal #113 Chestnut Brown. Her alabaster skin is smooth and dewy. No parts have retired South, they're not even packed up to do so yet. In fact, all parts are firm and gravity-defying. She can work and play all day and night, and nothing will hurt at all. Lulu has only gotten better in every way with age, while I, on the other hand, peaked in high school and have been in steady decline ever since, physically, intellectually, and financially. While Lulu weighs exactly the same as she did in high school, I now weigh exactly the same as the total of Lulu's and my combined high school weights. It is, in fact, I, who cannot see, and whose parts hurt, and who has more wrinkles than a Shar-pei, and who cannot find a chemical powerful enough to cover all the gray in my hair, and who needs to wear a complex system of pulleys and hydraulic lifts under a pale blue cashmere sweater. And furthermore, Lulu is witty and charming, while I have the personality of a pencil eraser. And not even a plump, pink, competent eraser. No, more like the kind that is flat and hardened and gray, and just smears things around making a bigger mess until it finally tears the damned paper. You know the type. That's me. I got it all wrong in the preceding post because, in addition to the aforementioned changes, I have also developed senile dementia.
I am Susie, and I have approved this correction.
(There! Happy now?)