Time to out Myself as a Bray Babe! - London, GB

A few years back a Canadian introduced me to the phrase "pretty face discount"
In the past it was something I had observed in action but wasn't offered to me.
A friend of mine (who's daughter is not only a carbon copy of her but a model) never paid for a drink in a bar. Always got offers to carry her bags and always seemed to get bonus gifts at places.
At the market however suddenly found myself being charged half the usual price or being given thing as a 'special gift'.
Why the change?
Hmm could this be the pretty face discount at work?
Sure, it's unlikely to ever be enough to cover the cost of my lift, but it is still gratefully received.

Having only previously had a "You know you look a bit like Celine Dion/Bette Midler..." type of observations prior to my surgeries I did wonder who my new celeb was.
Nicole Kidman was the other week, this week Joss Stone. Unlike either I can't sing a note so I'm unlikely to take to the stage any time soon...
On another note, I helped out my neighbours. One set moving out, another lot moving in and naturally in the interim while the carpets were being cleaned and their boxes were outside a summer storm brewed. I loaned them our shower curtain and picnic table cloths as a waterproof covering.
The parting neighbour introduced me "This is our neighbor Sybil...."
I was momentarily confused and then I remembered the neighbor previously lived in Canada and had passed by as I was saying goodbye to the French visitors ("au revoir Sybil").
"...we haven't seen Biene in ages.." she added.
To be fair that was because I'd been avoiding said neighbors on account of mishearing the name of another neighbor's cat. I'd been calling to and then fussing over the cat I thought was called "Kimchee" outside of their kitchen window (possibly appearing to them to duck crudely out of sight afterward, and probably hearing me muttering something about a "dusty [RS bleep]" and "don't you squint those eyes at me").
That in itself may have appeared odd, but it gets worse.
Much worse.
Mortally embarrassing worse.
The ultimate epitome of worse, enough for me to hide from them for a year...
...they are originally from Korea...
Yes, I looked like I was racially slurring my lovely neighbours. Mortifying.
What it also tells me is that I look radically different enough from my former self to confuse people.
So, back to the Joss Stone comparison, I don't see if myself, but I do see the fabulous jawline and cheeks Dominic and Rebecca have created for me.
What do you think?

I'd contemplated earlier in the year what would happen when I got round to wearing my summer plumage. As previously stated pre-op I was pretty much invisible in coat season, however in the summer days (let's not kid anyone, in Britain 'summer months' is a bit of a misnomer) where I'd get to cast my coat aside the comments from passersby would usually be divided into two categories Females/Fashionistas "I love your outfit" and straight guys "look at the [RS bleep] on that".
So I got used to being a 'that'. A that with [RS bleep] no less!
Sometimes the 'that' wasn't even acknowledged. It was just "hey, great [RS bleep]!" or "boobies" basically ornithological field notes.
Post op (apart from Malcom the truth tramp's apprentice who more recently observed "breasts") I've only had a passing Italian comment that I seemed "very bouncy".
You'd all be forgiven for thinking I was rocking some major low cut necklines, but nope, not always!

So my wardrobe hasn't changed, but cleavage centric comments had all but vanished.
Odd. Was I looking worse? Had my norks migrated too far south?!
Then I wore a long floppy brimmed sun hat. The kind that covers your face but you can see out through (but people can't really see you).
Suddenly it was like a flurry of feathers and once more I appeared on white-van-man's radar with a horn honking "TIIIIIIITS-AAAAH!" once more rang out from the windows. A guy walking along the street stopped and began walking along side me, talking AT me (and when I say 'me' I mean my chest area). In true Twitcher style I think he working up to include the word 'shag'!
Slightly incensed I stopped, flipping the brim of my hat up and staring him right where his eyes were, waiting for them raise from my chesticles to actually make contact with mine.
"To answer your questions in no particular order; my breast do have a number, it's 36, but that's not going to get you very far. They don't want to 'do coffee' or 'hook up some time' and neither do I!".
I stomped off to the park where I relaxed in the sun, alone, hat by my side. No botheration, just peace and sunshine. The sun shifted and I put my hat on. Shortly after a guy descended talking at 'me'.
I took my hat off...
..."oh sorry I think I'm punching above my weight!" and off he scuttled.
So I did more experimentation. Hat on = talk to boobs. Hat off = talk to face.
A further observation is that women are no longer bitchy avoidant, I'm far more invited to join in. I can only hypothesise but I wonder if they thought I was an ugly boot who'd had a boob job, now the focus is one the face the boobs are overlooked.
I guess I'll never know as it's not so easy to test out as hat on, hat off.