That time Ireland didn't steal my kidneys but instead made me a looker.

I've had a few problems with getting older. Not actual problems, mind, but losing your youthfulness sort of sucks, in my opinion. It makes me want to lie and say I'm 22 so when people question the validity of that I can look around sheepishly and say, "Oh, fine. You're right. I'm 28."

I recently received a letter in the post from the Public Services department looking for me to go down to their offices armed with identification so they can issue me a public services card, a new initiative from the Irish government so they can keep telling people that the unemployment rate is no more than 10%. And, as with all ID cards, there would be a quick photo snapped on the day, so I should present myself like a Kardashian.

Naturally, I forgot about my first appointment and then rescheduled the second. On the day of the third appointment I was running late for work, and I was half convinced this was a kidney-collection scam because the HSE isn't going to fund itself. Making an effort wasn't a priority. I skipped over mascara and threw my lipstick in my bag for later application if I had the time.

I went in, noticed there were no bathtubs filled with ice (a good sign), applied lipstick, and sat for a few minutes until I was called to the desk. The guy was nice enough -- took all relevant info, requested my signature and then snapped the ill-prepared for photo. My card would arrive in seven to 10 days and, while I might not need it now, I will need it some day, so do not lose it. This point was emphasised a few times. I not only look older now, I also look forgetful.

Some might say I look like a 1930s starlet; some might say that I'm suffering from delusions of grandeur. All I know is my mother-in-law said no one will ever believe that this photo is me and I believe her:

I also know that I will take that man's advice and never ever lose this card. 60 year old me is very excited to start using it.

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Liz in Dublin