What with it being Valentine’s day, this is an even more appropriate time to be writing about this theme. I don’t often come out smelling of roses here in Mexico. The fact of the matter is, that if there is something to be said, a dozen Mexicans will say it. If you have a spot, you’ll be told about it. If you’re looking ill, you’ll be informed about it before you even get a chance to look in the mirror. There is no room for the weak here. It means that I have come across a greater level of self-confidence here, and people are less bothered about having a bit of fat on them, as long as their hair is brushed and they’ve got a pair of heels on. Which is why I get quizzical looks when I leave the house with unbrushed hair and my unwavering flipflops. I’ve been promised a lot of combs for next Christmas. And I’ve received many gifts of shoes as a hint. Physical priorities are very different across the globe. Nails and hair are paramount in Mexico, as are high heels whatever the time of day or occasion, and skin is either coffee-coloured and flawless, or acne-riddled. My undecided skin, which can’t quite make its mind up between being nice mature grown-up skin or teenage and troublesome, has no place here. Luckily it’s not too serious an offence to be kicked out of the country.
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