Don't mind me. Just thought I should try something different. Apparently my line in self-deprecation is getting a little old.

All those columns about dropping a dress size, or poking fun at myself, were letting the sisterhood down. I'd not really thought about it until now.

I was too busy paddling in the shallow end of the literary pool to realise there were deeper issues I could cover in my little piece. Like the ``girl power'' issue.

So this week I'm trying to embrace my inner goddess. I'd say I'm trying to embrace my inner rake-thin ``glamazon'', but that's not how it's done either.

The whole point is that the terms ``rake-thin'' and ``glamazon'' are labels that only perpetuate society's ideology, which suggests a woman's value is inextricably linked to her physical appearance. So there.

Hence, there will be no more moaning about my bottom or painting myself as slightly inept.

Because that's not very empowering is it? Lord knows what I'll write about though.

Can't see me belting out 400 words on how we're all beautiful and valuable in our own way.

Of course we are beautiful in our own ways, and a good thing too, as I'm ageing so rapidly I fear I'm going to look like a prune before I'm 40.

I might do that thing where you pay a couple of grand to get your wrinkles sandpapered, then burnt off with lasers.

Oops. I've done it again. I've pointed out a personal shortcoming and perpetuated the beauty myth.

I'm finding this self-affirmation as difficult to stick to as the Atkins Diet. Except diets are a form of bondage of course.

Actually, I already knew Atkins was evil fancy trying to separate a girl from her mashed potatoes.

Perhaps I need more practice. I did try it out on the hubby. I sat in the armchair, eating chocolate (without guilt) and made an announcement.

I told him that I'm a beautiful, talented, successful woman, that he's very lucky to be married to me and that I'm worthy of a foot rub.

He told me to get over myself. Ah well, you can't please everyone.