We need to have a good old sit-down and have the dreaded ‘Where are we going?’ talk. You’ve been toying with me for long enough. A girl wants to know where she stands, you know.
It’s the uncertainty I can’t stand. And boy, are you sending me mixed messages!
Earlier this year, you stubbornly refused to make an appearance a couple of months, and then just turned up unannounced whenever the mood took you until you got the subtle message from my snarly looks and barking retorts and settled back into our good old routine.
One minute, I’m breaking out in zits that would make a teen testosterone machine flinch and the next I’m slapping enough salves, soothes and ointments to sink an oil slick onto a mysterious patch of reptilian skin that appeared on my jaw line.
And enough already with the Winnie the Pooh mood swings! While I love bouncy, manic Tigger and the melancholy philosophy of Eeyore in equal measure, I’d quite like to have a few days where I get to be level-headed Kanga, sensible Christopher Robin, or even eternally optimistic Winnie (though we can give needy Piglet a miss, if that’s OK with you).
I’m sick of being reduced to a soggy blubbering pile of tears… by a cereal ad.
I get the message. A change is coming. I’ll be 47 in a couple of months. But we’ve been fine as we are, haven’t we? Quite frankly, I don’t have time for an upheaval right now, so if you don’t mind, can we just carry on as we were for a little while yet?
Go on. I’ll make it worth your while.
With love - or hate - or utter confusion,
Crazy-faced and sweat-bound of
I love you guys. You are consistently ‘Best in Class’ in my bod.
OK, so you’ve grown (who hasn’t?), and maybe you’re not quite a firm and perky as you used to be, but you’re still luscious and reliable (and believe me, that’s a rare trick to pull off!).
I feel I need to reward you somehow, just to show you how much I appreciate you. But sadly now is not a time for satin and lace, so let’s just hang on in with the clean cotton old faithful undies for now, OK?
Your loving owner.
What is it with you and me? I know you’re strong, I know you’re dependable, but would it hurt you to make a little effort to look nice now and then?
Yours, in eager anticipation of smooth, toned calves,
Madame Thunder Thighs.
You’re too hard on yourself, you know. I know you think you’re the one thing that keeps this whole shebang going (well, yes, actually you are) but that doesn’t mean you can’t take a wee break now and then.
It might even do you some good to switch off completely now and then – like when I'm desperately trying to get some shut-eye instead of staring into the darkness at 4am, or when we’re watching a Jennifer Aniston movie.
Really, your participation is not essential at times. Even Olympic athletes need a break now and then (and you’re no Math-lete, sunshine!).
Now and again you just have to take the advice of some tried and tested comedy catch-phrases.
“Don’t panic!” would be a good one right now.
The end of the world is not nigh, yet. And there’s still stuff to be enjoyed and appreciated before you have to say “So long and thanks for all the fish”.
Oh, and something else…
….don't forget to breathe!
Desperately seeking serenity,
A very non-Ohm 40-something.
You guys are awesome!
Whenever I start heading for meltdown, you’re there to listen to my silent screaming over the ether and to reach out with words of encouragement and optimism. I can almost feel the positive vibes flowing out of my laptop whenever I commit some of my angst to my blog.
This week, you came up trumps again. I had a moment where I flipped out, fearing the worst before it arrives at our doorstep. And yet, there you were, waiting to give me cyber cuddles and pats on the shoulder, boost my sagging ego and restore my default Pollyanna mode (without the annoying pigtails).
I've never met most of you, and probably never will, but I just want to reach my arms into the Internet and give you all a big, fat, grateful hug.
Thanks a zillion,