A FRIEND recently took up a course that brings together people of all ages and backgrounds twice a week. Although, she enjoys the diversity, something happened during her last class to make her wonder how others perceive her.

"I was referred to as an elderly woman by a man in my class the other day," she complained.

"Elderly! How can I possibly be elderly when I just turned 50 last year?"

"Maybe it's a language thing," I suggested.

"An elderly person is usually at least 70 years old,? she said sounding increasingly irritated. ?How can anyone not know that?"

"Well, the finer nuances of the language can often be lost on non-native English speakers."

"If that's the case, what did he mean to say instead of elderly? He must have meant that I was old."

"Maybe he meant you were mature."

"Mature? That makes me sound like old cheese."

"But don't you think looking mature is better than looking elderly?" I asked.

"Do you think I look old?" she asked.

I don't like it when someone asks me such questions: Do you think I look young for my age? Does this outfit make my bum look big? In the right light, and viewed from the right angle, guess which famous actress do I look like?

"How old was this man?" I said.

"What difference does that make?"

"Well, when I was in my 20s anyone who was 40 and above seemed old to me."

"But do you think I look old for my age?"

?No,? I said, being completely honest. ?But being perceived as much older is just something you have to expect when you mix with people who are substantially younger than yourself.

"Personally, I enjoy the company of younger people, even if they do regard me as a dinosaur.

"Of course, I also derive comfort from growing old in tandem with friends my own age. After all, we can relate to each other's physical and emotional changes as we get older.

"Bitching and complaining about things like new-found wrinkles, expanding girths and hormonal fluctuations can be cathartic, and often funny if we don't take ourselves too seriously."

After I'd said goodbye to my friend that day, I remembered something that a famous middle-aged woman (so famous that I can't even remember her name) had once said about getting older.

One day, she walked into a room full of strangers and realised that she no longer turned heads. If she had spent five minutes or five hours on her appearance, the result would have been the same: no one would have noticed. Her age had rendered her invisible.

As I enter my invisible years, when more and more people fail to notice me, when I'm just regarded as middle-aged or, God forbid, elderly, I've discovered that there is yet another "joy" that comes with getting older that I have yet to experience.

It seems that older women smell. And this has nothing to do with personal hygiene; we naturally exude an "unpleasant fatty odour".

But for all you ageing women suffering from odours that just won't go away, help is at hand.

There is now a new perfume for older women called Ageless Fantasy on the market. This "anti-age" scent, which smells of jasmine, cherry blossom, musk and vanilla, claims to be a "fragrance elixir (that) defies your skin's natural age-revealing scent.

And if you spray yourself with the stuff, men who get within sniffing range of you will think you're at least eight years younger than you really are.

Like how ridiculous is that? As if we don?t have enough to contend with, we're now told that we stink.

And even if we douse ourselves liberally with Eau De Youth, who in their right mind is going to be induced to get within sniffing distance of us normally fetid creatures in the first place?

Perhaps all I have to look forward to, if I ever feel like getting back into the dating game again, are old geezers with bad eyesight and a great sense of smell.

But then, can you imagine how stressful it would be to have to keep excusing yourself throughout the evening just so you can rush off to the loo and top up your perfume?

If that's what I have to do to get noticed, I'd rather stay at home with my smelly girlfriends.