So by following lives cruel rules I have aged another sodding year.
My wrinkles have increased as has my desire to encase my feet in soft slippers when ever it is socially plausible.
The get up and go I was known for in my youth seems to have simply got up and gone. I hear myself starting sentences with the phrase “in my day” on a regular basis and yesterday I actually offered a young girl my scarf because I genuinely felt the forgetful little mite had left home without remembering to pop on a coat or a skirt. Turns out exposing your crack on the dance floor is actually more socially acceptable than going dancing in your slippers.
So I awoke this morning face down in my pillow, as I dared to peak at the day through one eye I felt an instant reminder as to why ladies of my age should not consume multiple glasses of rose and then hit the dance floor with a shriek of joy when “saturday night” is belted out through the speakers.
The room around me smelt like old man fart and lager. Have you noticed that as you mix age and alcohol the result each morning is always smelly and the older you get the more pronounced the stench becomes. I am sure as a student my room whilst not winning any cleanliness awards didn’t hum like the local tip after consuming one too many the night before.
As I creaked my eye open an explosion cracked in my head which was followed quickly with a series of thuds as if a team of tiny dwarfs were living in my brain and were trying to chip their way out with hammers. In front of me stood two children fully reloaded on twelve hours sleep singing “happy birthday” in time to the beat in my brain.
I sat up to embrace them and realised that two hours spent shaking my thang in an eighties bar celebrating the fact I am one year closer to death had left my ageing body feeling punished and my normally pink feet blackened.
Present opening has commenced and ended quickly, I am sure I have some beautiful gifts but have yet to locate them as twin boy, girl and BB tore off paper and envelopes as if they were competing against the countdown clock.
So one year older, a little bit smellier, and judging by my headache not in the slightest bit wiser.