Hey hey. It’s nearly my birthday! (Tomorrow/ Today… read time depending). And I am busier than a prairie dog in a dingo hunt. Wombat like.
[Fok. I don’t even understand me. What the hell was that.]
So to reflect in that half-glassa-wine-on-a-yoga-stomach way. And because I have been banished while he wraps up some gifts:
28. The age of aging. The “I am now “older”. I should have a plan. I should have a clue. HA! Rumour has it that actually I should know less now than what I knew 10 years ago… and all I knew then was don’t wear underwear that bunches when you’re wearing a short tight dress.
I don’t think I even fall into the promiscuous HIV Risk age category anymore. …When did this all happen!?!?! I promise I can be promiscuous! I promise! In that monogamous probably-nearly-married love-my-darling-cute-guy wouldn’t-risk-or-wreck-it-for-any-amount-of-kinky-sex-without-him kinda way.
Where when someone tells me that the Aussie pay their people Oz$9000 when a chick falls pregnant, I pat my womb fondly & think, ‘now, isn’t that luvely”, instead of previous years’ reactions of ‘you mean I have to do WHAT with my womb!?!?!’
It is a strange strange age. Especially that this year I am not even allowed a hangover on the day after it all. Thanks to being all responsible and growing in career (that I am about to give up on to be a bar tart). Work demands barely allow me to note the passing of this day.
I had reflections on what it means to be 28. I forgot them. Somewhere between growing memory loss & distracted by all that life’s batterings & silly lessons.
So, enough of this talk, pass the Guinness, the meeting schedule & the laptop powered with Powerpoint!
Cheers to aging me :)