Sunday, June 21, 2009

Forty going on Four or Eighty Four?

I can drive, drink, vote, read and breed and am occasionally able to cook something using more than one pot but there are still so many more things I do that are really, really immature.

Such as:
  • Eating a banana and half a 250 gram packet of marshmallows for lunch. Starting with the whites first and leaving the pinks (my favourite) until lucky last.
  • Flexing in front of the mirror after my shower. Did you know that bikini supermodels pose like Egyptians? If you don't believe me, try shoving your shoulders forward and twisting your waist and butt around to the side. Then push out your hip bones and throw your arms back behind you like a troubled ape (or Paris Hilton) and voila, you've lost ten kilos and should be auditioning for the 'after' picture in fat busting advertisements.
  • Laughing till I cried at seeing the search phrase "Ashleigh's Peanut Butter Farts" and wondering if I should send it on to him.
  • Substituting four-syllable words to replace the 'Mu-nu-mu-nah' that Animals sings in that classically catchy Muppet song. Recent winners have included the Kath & Kim's bat-wing arm fat descriptor 'Foo-doo-bah-dahs' and pornography (but only after explaining what it meant to a horrified Sapphire), simplicity, undoubtedly, unbearable, exaggerate and, most appropriately, 'inanity'.
  • Still writing my name or 'Kath loves LC' inside a lop-sided love heart in the steam on the bathroom mirror.
  • Knowing that my chances of winning the lottery is about a billion to one, yet feeling absurdly disappointed when the slimy piece of paper is handed back with 'Not a Winner' on it. Refusing to touch that slip, saying 'Oh you can put it in the bin,' as though it'll damage my fortune in other aspects of my life.
  • Painting Milly the dog's toe nails (paw claws?) shimmery purple.
  • Popping a Lindt Ball into each cheek and letting them dissolve slowly as I read in-depth, thought-provoking articles in The Age. And doing it again for the next article. And the next insert.

And yet there are other times when I'm swear I'm looking towards eighty four instead of four. These are all true:

  • Avidly reading the freebie community newspaper from cover-to-cover and then joining the local ratepayers association. And attending the council's community consultation session. Willingly.
  • Consider googling where I can find a spiked litter pole thingy to ease the agony of continual bending over to pick up rubbish in my street, the local school, the poo lane alley adjoining the corner shop and the dodgy old flats next door.
  • Looking forward to eating soup as the weather gets colder.
  • Laughing at the re-emergence of eighties fashions being touted as 'Defying the recession with bright colours and bold optimism'.
  • Noticing that the flesh on my neck doesn't turn in time with my head, but instead wobbles and stretches like a hesitant raw pizza base.
  • Wondering why antimacassars aren't in vogue anymore.
  • Discovering that I have a permanent pink tattoeed belt around my middle - even first thing in the morning - from years of wearing high-waisted elasticated underpants and jeans.
  • Following and actively participating in discussions concerning politics. And realising that I'm actually a bit interested.
  • Acknowledging that my most frequent thought and deed is determining where and when I can sit down.
  • Doing a passable impersonation of a duck's mating call just by farting when I cough.
  • Spending a longer time on the toilet and appreciating the solitude.
  • Appreciating the fact that there's not one pair of heels in my wardrobe and 10% or less of my clothes need be be touched by an iron.

So yes, I insert the dog's name into ABBA songs and serenade her during the day ("Milly-mooster tell me what's wrong..."), have tried to photograph Skipper's tiny disapproving bunny lips from a weird angle and licked the chocolate cake mix bowl with Sapphire but have also noticed that my face has the imprint of the pillow left on it until long after lunch time and my legs are the physical representation of the blue and red streets of the Melways directory.

But most importantly I am that age - whatever mental, emotional or psychological number is assigned by the relevant experts - where coolness and a posh car don't matter. Just clean clothes and my loved ones. Oh and finding chocolate on special.


ashleigh said...

The post I wish I'd wrote. :)

Except the peanut butter fart bit. I'm not sure about that one. I actually find these days that milk (lactose intolerance... I think), too much curry, too much red wine (sobs), and anything with lentils or chick peas is a sure fire recipe for farting.

I also have to confess to being the second-fiddle village idiot at work (there is another chap who can upstage me any time), silly voices and imitating Billy Connolly [or anybody from Taggart] seem to be my forte. That and word association football (if you don't get that one you are a sad case...) and puns.

I also completely understand the bit about finding a seat. Long periods standing... well.. suck.

Getting older is both good and bad. I still feel about 22 and gormless, much of the time. It's not until I start drawing on some hard learned lesson of 20 or more years ago that I release I'm getting to be an old fart.

The Ulysses motorcycle club motto "grow old disgracefully" has a big attraction. I'm not sure about riding the bike.... but I like the sentiment.

ashleigh said...

(Sure fire recipe... a pun... geddit?)

River said...

Like you, I find that my body and mind are going in different directions. Just this morning I found that my boobs have drooped even lower, and I have several new moles circling my neck. (No need to buy that pearl necklace after all.)And I have a few white eyebrow hairs. EYEBROWS!! My mind finds fun in increasingly childish things. Fart jokes, inane TV comedy, poking fun at people. Drawing moustaches and black teeth on newspaper pictures of celebrities. Hugging a stuffed animal. Yes, I have one, (well several), a baby chimpanzee that lives on my bed. I'm not ashamed to say I cuddle him. He keeps my secrets and hides my tears, just like my teddy bear did when I was 5.

The Plastic Mancunian said...

Very funny - and I totally appreciate what you are saying (I'm in my mid-to-late 40's).

My missus thinks I'm a kid, my kids tell me to grow up, I act like an immature arse, yet I throw a complete wobbler when I see immaturity in others and then I find that my body is rebelling against me; my gut is getting bigger, I have hair growing all over my eras - MY EARS!! - and my eyesight is appalling and getting worse (even though I have worn specs since the age of 8).

Great post




The Man at the Pub said...

Your forgot "Sticking two pens up your nose" (in what could possibly be a Baldrick inspired impersonation of a pencil case?)

Does all this mean its your birthday?

Kath Lockett said...

Oh come on Ashleigh, it *is* you doing the peanut butter farts, isn't it?

...and I'll be honest and admit I didn't notice 'sure fire recipe' until you pointed it out. Proudly.

River, you have a stuffed animal, I have one *almost* as relaxed as that, but with a heartbeat: Milly's sleeping in her beanbag at my feet as I'm typing this.

Welcome, Plastic Mancunian - yes the hairy ears bit is something that my husband Love Chunks is experiencing now, too. No-one can tell me just what ancient evolutionary reason is behind the need to have long, wiry hairs growing on the *outside* of a fella's ears. ....or can they?

Well spotted, MATP - after I did it, I thought, 'Hang on, didn't Baldrick do this?' and then thought, well if it's good enough for my ancestor it's good enough for me.

Cat J B said...

The thing that has aged me the most is having small children who wake in the night. The morning sees me looking like I've been at an all night party. My next birthday puts me closer to 40 than, how did that happen?!

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Baino said...

Man I thought I was honest and self-deprecating! I'm so with you on the daginess thought. I wore a suit to work today for the first time in over 10 years and felt like a fish out of water. And a well lit lift highlighted the 'chicken skin' on my neck far more than I would have liked. I think I'll pull out the red trench coat tomorrow because everyone was beige or black! And I'm not sharing my best fart fodder!

Helen said...

I think there's a big difference between childish and childlike, and I think you're on the good side of it!

Cast Iron Helen said...

Jeez woman, you surely have a sugar habit! Worse than mine!! If I was a dentist I think I'd faint dead away reading some of your posts.

And so thin and fit looking compared to moi! Grrrrr.

(w/v "eminesse" which is very posh, don't you think - sounds like the name of some new vaginal lube or something)
(Made a mistake, new w/v is GROKS - LOL!!)

redcap said...

Heh. I think we've all got some old people tendencies. But keep away from ratepayers' associations and councils! Most people who run for council are either insane, entranced by the sound of their own voices, on some sort of eeny-weeny power trip or all three. Take Red's advice and think of local councillors as you would stepping in dog poo: to be avoided at all costs.