The level of disappointment in my life is approaching tsunami status.
No, the treachery of the bathroom scale is not my immediate concern because I have known, since I was 12, not to trust the evil little device.
But I have had to cope, recently, with the latest Star Trek movie Into Darkness, which was a kind of re-run back-to-the-future collection of scenes; the absence of my ambassadorial posting to Geneva; and an increasing lactose intolerance that now keeps cheesecake off my dessert cart.
The devastating news that Kate Middleton has not chosen Elsa as a possible name for my future niece (Diana and Elizabeth are at the top of her list) also increased my sourness to about 6.5 on the Richter scale.
I also had a bad time at the last Macy's online sale when a glitch caused my virtual shopping bag to vomit all my purchases.
Things worsened when I had to watch that honourable fool Robb Stark get his entire family slaughtered at the Red Wedding' penultimate episode on Game of Thrones. That mental anguish could be matched only by the awkward moment when I first discovered that the label "Wash and Wear'' on items of clothing was not to be taken literally.
Possibly, with therapy and medication, I could have recovered but then I let frenemies talk me into joining the T&T Retired Persons Association. "A rite of passage,'' they called it. Passage to hell!
The whole idea behind the plan was to buy compliments. You are supposed to wave the membership card at cashiers and then wait for them to exclaim, "Whey you get that? That is for old people. You couldn't be a day over 35!''
You don't have to be retired to join the association, just over a certain age. If you remember when there was only one TV channel, you are eligible. The discounts given by merchants and pharmacies and private hospitals for TTARP members are utterly beside the point.
This card was supposed to be an ego-booster, a mood-changer, a secret weapon to whip out when the bathroom scale plays treason, when gravity is tugging a little harder, when some creepozoid calls you "Tantie'' when you are obviously still of "Dahlin'' status.
Instead, every cashier I have shown the card has glue in her eyelids because she never bats a lash. She just swipes the card and absent-mindedly hands it back to me. Don't these people know the protocol!
In fact, I am composing a strongly worded letter to management at the neighbourhood supermarket about their customer service. The last time I got my groceries, the blasted cashier did not even wait for me to try the card trick. She just said, without making eye contact, "You have a TTARP card?''
"Do I look like I would have a TTARP card?'' I snapped.
The same thing happened at MovieTowne, where card-carrying members of the TTARP get big discounts on certain days.
"Any discounts?'' the ticket seller chirped.
"Discounts?'' I asked, innocently. "You know, if you have a TTARP card?''
Grrrrr!
I blame the TTARP people for this. Aren't they supposed to warn us, before we sign up as members, that the card may not always work as we expect? A massive fraud has been committed against the innocents of the Sixties who, thanks to alpha hydroxyl serums, Pilates and automatic washing machines, are actually younger than their chronology.
But there are a few small comforts I am clinging to: I have all my teeth. Lancome has released a new magic age-defying serum.
And, best of all, King Joffrey will get his comeuppance in Season 4 of Game of Thrones, which starts filming next month.
?