At 13 the twins seem to old for a sitter but too young to be left alone.
So my peer group is my kids – which luckily works for me as the vast majority of the time I really, really like them.
They are my confidants, my fashion advisers, the ones who fetch me tea when I work late.
They are full of some cracking bits of information.
This week, when the sun decided to make a fleeting appearance I squished myself into a short denim skirt.
Luckily my 13 year old was not around to give me her opinion of my 41 year old legs being out out.
But I did want to clarify with my youngest that my skirt wasn’t too short…
The conversation went along these lines…
“Honey, stand behind me – can you see my bum in this skirt.”
The nine year old..
“No way mummy, just your legs”
Me: “great, how about if I bend over and touch my toes.”
(Demonstrating my mobility here..)
The nine year old…
“Oh yes, I can see your hairs…”
Sweet Jaysus / how have I grown a head of hair on my butt?
How did I not know?
Am sure you can only imagine the contortions in the mirror that afternoon, and I still don’t see (or feel) what she does…..
Can you get immac for your ass?