"Oh My", as our favourite sex-craving anti-heroine likes to opine (I did count actually and she comes out with this intellectual gem 24 times in 50 Shades Darker which, incidentally, is as much a pile of complete crap as the first one).
Anyway, the point is, I think I am going through a midlife crisis. I didn't think I was going to be bothered about turning 40 but I'm suddenly feeling, physically, really old. This wasn't helped this morning by The Monkey telling me that my hair is changing colour and I have bits of "silver" in it (slightly more polite than grey I suppose). His father took him aside and had a quiet word, suggesting that he probably shouldn't mention it again. Anyway, I've told The Monkey off about fibbing before and I pay someone good money to keep the silver OUT of my hair. Yesterday a Silver Fox came up to me in the street and said "Lovely hair - that's a great cut!" Two things, with hindsight, now strike me about that; firstly that he omitted to mention the now seemingly obvious grey bits and secondly, he was in his sixties. At first I was flattered. Now I'm wondering whether he was saying it was a good cut for his age group and that he wouldn't mind taking a lady with such hair on a Saga cruise. I know 65 is young these days but, please, I'm 25 years (2 months and 16 days) away .
Twins or small planet?
Three small children probably aren't making me feel much younger - nor is the running. I've done 16km in the last 2 days and my legs just want to fall off and tomorrow I'm faced with a BIG one. It's not like I've lost a couple of stone either but I suppose that could be the martinis. I'm sure I read in a running magazine that they're a good energy drink. As every mother of twins or more knows, no matter what you do or how hard you try, you will never get rid of that fold of skin on your stomach. No amount of sit-ups or running can shift something that has been created by two small beings stretching your previously cared-for skin beyond recognition and then suddenly vacating that space - like popping a balloon. So, now that I've been informed by The Boy that "flobby" is a good word for it, (thanks Boy) I'm going to start saving for a remoulding. I use that word because I'm in denial. Surely whatever is removed from a tummy tuck can be recycled into a boob job, thereby saving me money and the surgeon time? All I want is a little bit of shape redistribution.
The future looks bright...
stepping out of my cryo-pod thing in 10 years time
I don't know whether his father had another word with him but The Monkey has since redeemed himself. Watching me brush my hair for the first time this week to go and get him some new school shoes he said I didn't need to put any make up on for him. "You only need to put make-up on if you want other people to think you're pretty. I think you're perfect pretty without it".
No matter how bad things seem you can always rely on that first born son / mother bond to make amends. At least I know I now appeal to both ends of the age spectrum. It's just that 60 year gap in between.
I don't think I've ever really been that vain but if this is what turning 40 does to you then I'd rather skip it and move straight on to 50.