So this year was shaping up pretty well – I won $14 in lotto on New Year’s Day, I didn’t have a hangover, and I woke up with 6 dear friends in the house. We had breakfast together, which is a lovely way to spend the first day of the year. When they left, I found that they had left a pound of bacon, half a loaf of beloved white Master Loaf, two dozen eggs, a kilo of fresh flathead and a specially purchased bag of jubes. How lucky am I? I thought as I ate my vegemite white toast. (There was narry a child in sight all morning which – I must shamefully add – also contributed to an allover sense of no-one’s-going-to-pester-me-for-weetbix-or-shoes happiness).

Then I went on to eat lunch and play tennis with my Mum, Dad, sister, husband and children (I was pleased to see them after all). We ate plums and teased one another and ran about the garden and I felt lucky all over again.

Then yesterday, on the second of January 2016, things suddenly took a dive. I found my first grey hair. And with that, it was like the happy new year had turned all ha-ha there goes another year.

I pulled it out as soon as I saw it. The hair that is. And all the other ones around it (it wasn’t a head hair you see, it was a pubice hair, a GREY PUBE. More like white actually, which is worse than grey because there is nothing gradual or in between about white). But even though it’s gone, the fact remains, it was there, a grey hair. And there will be more. It’s only a matter of time. I can wax lower forestville more diligently than ever but my wrinkly elbows will still tempt my children into pinching them, and the white hairs will keep on a-coming.

So that’s the first lesson of 2016. Accept that the years are passing, even though I still feel 19 in my head. And maybe hurry the fuck up a bit and get those things done that I want to get done. Or at least work out what those things are, and then get on and do them. Stop dreaming about writing a book, for instance, just write one. Before another bloody Christmas comes along to give me more white hairs. And get fit, like really fit. Because nothing defies the ageing process like feeling really fucking fit.

The second lesson was that shortly after discovering The Hair, I accidentally watched That Sugar Film. Damn, that is one compelling and convincing argument against sugar. If you love your ju-jubes, or your morning cereal and a zillion other everyday, sugar-hiding foods for that matter, don’t watch that film, it will ruin them forever. It gave me my new year’s resolution. Reduce sugar, drastically. And here I was thinking I didn’t eat much sugar. Another thing to worry about, fuckit.

Then today, on the 3rd of January, my husband crushed the tip of his finger in the bonnet of an excavator, and I spent the day in the emergency department. And I remembered that grey hairs and ditching your sweeties don’t matter; that there are more important things you should be giving fucks about, like family.

So this year, for the record, I will be: 1) Only giving a fuck about things that properly matter, 2) Writing a book (eeeek), 3) Reducing sugar and 4) Getting fit

So don’t mess with me 2016, I’m the one not giving a fuck.

I’m starting tomorrow though, I can’t waste those jubes.



Categories: Navelgazery

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