I first noticed it at a charity ball in London while wearing a sleeveless gown. Introduced to an inexplicably enthusiastic young man, I watched in horror as he shook my hand up and down vigorously and my upper arm flab moved in synchronised waves from elbow to shoulder. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to extricate myself, mortified. I could only hope no one else had seen it.
A week later in the unforgiving fluorescent light of a changing room mirror, I inspected my upper arms and there it was – the indisputable sagginess that comes with age. I
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