Unless you have been living under a rock, or do not own a television (which would be like living under a rock!) you will know the The Bachelor Australia finished last night with huge fanfare and a proposal.
Yes, our bachelor Blake (nice smile, gorgeous voice, but slightly robotic) has been dating a plethora of blondes and brunettes in various stages of botox and fake tan for the past 10 weeks. I admit, I had been completely sucked in, especially watching "dirty street pie Laurina' (conclusive proof that beauty and brains cannot co-exist in the same body!)
Anyway our dashing bachelor finally narrowed his choice down to Sam and Lisa and told them BOTH how beautiful, endearing, loyal, loving, warm, kind etc etc etc they BOTH were. How he could not imagine his life without BOTH of them in it. I think perhaps at times young Blake thought he was auditioning for a harem and not a wife! His mum and aunt were also rolled in to check out the finalists but seemed unable to find any real differences between the girls.
Blake finally shared his long awaited decision with Lisa, Sam and the rest of Australia. He stared deeply into Sam's eyes. Told her he had 'never been surer of anything in his whole life'. He loved her, he adored her, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and then .............. very traditionally, on one knee, he proposed and offered a stunning diamond ring.
She said yes. They laughed, they cried, they kissed. We all went "awwwww" and looked on fondly (except for the people who were barracking for Lisa!). as they walked off into the South African sunset and to live happily ever after.
BUT NO ...... today we learned that the whole romance lasted three weeks!!!! I have had sliced ham that stayed fresh in Tupperware longer than that!!!
So what went wrong?
If you are as good looking as Blake and the majority of the ladies, and have not been snapped up already, I suggest there may be some serious flaws lurking under the surface. Either that or the family from hell!
In real life, how many women would happily share a house with a whole bunch of other women, much less share the same bloke? "Sure, you go out with him tonight, I'll wait my turn until tomorrow'. What are they .... Mormons???
The biggest problem is totally unrealistic, reality television. Living in a HUGE mansion, dates that include hot air balloons, helicopters, luxury yachts, safari in St Africa, private islands, presidential suites, choirs appearing out of nowhere to serenade and a freaking winter wonderland ....... OH PLEASE!!
Any wonder the minute Blake and Sam went back to normal lives, working for a living, facing traffic, supermarkets and the general drudgery of life, the whole thing fell to bits. (This is not to discount the theories that Blake really had no interests in a long term relationship, or that Lisa is pregnant with his child, or that Blake is gay etc etc)!!
So in the interests of a less-deflating end for the next series, I offer the following suggestions:
No more rarefied unrealistic dates. Instead, how about:
- A trip to Bunnings or the local recycling centre.
- The loving couple must put together flat pack furniture.
- Complete the fortnightly supermarket shopping (with a strict budget)
- Take Nana out for a nice early dinner.
- Complete a list of shopping on Christmas Eve (again with a budget)
- Spend a sexy weekend caring for one of those reality baby dolls that cry.
- Care for your potential partner through food poisoning or the flu
- Clean the bathroom together
- Work together though Habitats for Humanity in a third world country.
Group dates should also be more like real life. The group does not consist of the female candidates vying for the bloke. Instead it's our main man and a group of his mates.
If you really want to test a girl's mettle try:
- Take her to the local footy so she can cook sausages for the group (all his drunken mates)
- Join his friends at the local cricket match (yawn)
- A romantic late night at the local drag racing
- A grand final party (the lucky girl gets to be 'beer bitch' for the day)
- Invite her around the morning after a 'boy's night' to clean up.
No more impractical, extravagant gifts of gowns and jewellery.
Instead try:
- A soda stream
- A deep fryer
- A voucher of any kind
- Anything bought last minute at the petrol station
And finally, no more roses (or rose ceremonies)
Our 2015 Bachelor stands before his group of lovelies and says,
'Sam (Lisa, Louise, Laurina or whoever) will you accept my washing?'
If, after all this, the new Bachelor and his chosen lady love still want to be together, then good luck to them.
They probably have about as much chance as the rest of us!
So the Queen has opened the Commonwealth Games. Watching the big event this evening it started me thinking about the advantages of being the Queen.
It would be pretty cool to be guaranteed the best seats at anything you went to. No sitting with your finger poised over the Ticketmaster website waiting for
pre-sales to start. Great theatre shows, sporting events and popular concerts ... no worries - seats front and centre (even better, in one of those really cool boxes with the great views)
BUT you would probably have to sit through some pretty crummy variety concerts including ventriloquists and magicians. Hard to catch a few zzz's to pass the time when everyone is looking at you!
Your car would drop you off as close as possible to everything. No fighting through crowds, standing in queues or pushing through turnstiles.
BUT you would totally miss the excited atmosphere before and after fabulous entertainment. Also, if you are like me, the most exercise I get is walking somewhere from the nearest car park. I probably can't afford to miss any further exercise!
You could request anything you want to eat or drink and it would appear before you. Pate, foi gras or a yummy loin chop? No problems Your Majesty. Passionfruit sponge or gold leaf covered chocolate? On its way ma'am.
BUT what if you had to attend a banquet and all you felt like was a poached egg on toast? Tough luck Your Majesty. You will eat the dried out chicken breast and you will look like you love it. Feel like seafood? Sorry ma'am, but we can't risk food poisoning. Missing also, would be the sense of achievement of mastering a new recipe or cuisine. The joy of experimenting and making something people really enjoy eating.
Having your own gold throne. How cool would you feel perched up there, magnificent jewelled crown on your head. Sceptre in hand. Pride of place (off with their heads!!!)
BUT I'm not really sure how comfortable thrones are, especially after four hours of the Opening of Parliament. I believe crowns aren't all they are cracked up to be. Cumbersome, heavy and hard on the neck. Hard to slouch and get comfy in a crown, much less a throne.
Travelling to the most amazing places in the world, in your own plane.
No worries about boarding passes, annoying people sitting next to you, dodgy headsets and no leg room for starters. Seeing the very best of every country you visit. Being welcomed and feted (and even being presented with gifts)
BUT you can't just wander through the airport and catch a cab to the hotel. You have to do the obligatory 'meet and greet' where small children, who have no idea who you are, thrust mangled bunches of flowers at you. You smile, look grateful, say something nice, pass them on the the nearest lackey .... and do it all again and again and again! Then you are stuck with a minute by minute timetable. If you are having a good time, tough luck, you are expected at the next appointment, now!! You have to make nice with a whole bunch of politicians who are using you as a photo opportunity. You have to know something about everyone so you can make polite conversation when you really don't give a damn about any of them.
You never have to go clothes shopping (or any kind of shopping actually). If you need a new dress, jacket, skirt or whatever, you have the finest designers, couturiers and milliners at your service. They even come to you and everything you wear fits perfectly, because it is made for you. You don't have to worry about what everyone else is wearing, because they are all worrying about wearing the correct thing for you!
BUT apart from brief private moments you have to wear what is almost your uniform. Bright colours. Ladylike dresses with matching coats. A vast array of hats of all size, shape and colour. You have to don long gowns, evening bags and sensible shoes. No schlepping around in trackies and uggs. No nicking to the shops with no bra on (and having to chat to people with your arms crossed so they don't notice!)
The jewels. Oh the jewels! Gold, silver, platinum. Diamonds, emerald, sapphires the size of duck eggs! The tiaras, necklaces, bracelets, earrings and brooches. It's like you are allowed to wear Aladdin's treasures all over your body. You have so many that you can lend out heaps to family members and never really miss them. If you are having a bad day or feeling tired, there would be nothing like a giant sparkly diamond to ease the pain.
BUT the vast majority of the jewels are not actually owned by you. Sure you may have a few personal pieces given to you by the hubby etc, but the really good stuff is not yours to pawn. You also have to wear some pretty questionable pieces on your 'holidays' cause you are staying with the people who gave them to you (think ugly wattle and fern leaf brooches - thanks Australia and New Zealand). People like to see you using their gifts.
The palaces. Yes, if you are the Queen you get to live in a palace (who would have thought). In fact you also have several castles at your disposal. You do not have to clean these residences .... no, not ever.
BUT you do have to have lots and lots of servants. They are always there. Always. You are never really alone. You can't run around in the nude or wrapped in a towel. You can't sit on your gold throne in your jammies. And again ... you don't really own the palaces and castles. They come with the job.
The parties. You have lots of very grand parties. You can have a party pretty much when you want to. You don't have to worry if the sausage rolls get burnt or whether you have run out of dip. You don't even have to try and work out how much grog to buy (you just get the nearest servant person to go to the cellar and get some more). Best part ... you never have to hose away the vomit and pick up the cigarette butts from the flower beds.
BUT you rarely get to decide who comes to the party. They are usually a whole bunch of stuffed shirts and c-grade celebrities who get the chance to don their best gear. Again you have to spend the whole night 'making nice' with people you would never chose to speak to and you can never, never relax and get totally pissed on cheap champagne.
The family. Well, you do get to have a pretty fair say in who gets to marry into your family. If there is someone you wish hadn't marry into the family you can banish them to a small cottage on the grounds of a distant castle and never refer to them again. If your spouse snores you can also banish him to another room/wing/palace/castle. You just say 'we are not amused' and you can choose to sleep alone (you can also decide to bring him back occasionally if you choose). No-one would turn a hair. It's quite a proper royal thing to do to have separate quarters. If you have really cute grandkids or great grandkids ... the whole world admires them too.
BUT the entire world has an extraordinary interest in every moment of your entire family. If your 20-something grandson some does a nudie run ... the whole world knows. If your least favourite daughter-in-law turns out to be a toesucker ... the whole world knows. If your eldest son has a fetish about being reborn as a feminine hygiene product ... the whole world knows and believe me .... they remember!!!
There are so many pros and cons.
Sure there are some great benefits to being the Queen but would I give up my privacy, my pots and pans, my cute little cottage and my trackies and uggs .... no sorry Elizabeth .... it's all yours.
I watch tv.
Actually, I don't really 'watch' much tv. I can't sit and watch the screen, but I do have it on while I read, knit or check out my emails and Facebook. It's quite good company, humming along in the background.
Of course, a fairly large part of what comes on the screen is advertisements. So ... love them or hate them? For me it's a bit of both.
There have been some absolute gems which have worked their way into the vernacular. "Not happy Jan!' is such a great way to explain how you are feeling. I loved the one where everyone responded to their awkward predicament with 'bugger' (so much funnier than 'ahh ahhh Allience!).
Lately however, the list of advertisements that annoy me is getting longer and longer. So I thought I would unload a few onto you.
So here we go:
Inappropriate Animations
Talking applicances (especially blenders and telephones) and talking animals are stupid and irritating. I don't care what they are saying, as soon as they start talking, I lose the plot. There is one exception to this rule. The adorable (and very funny) meerkats Aleksandr and Sergei. How could you resist those two?
Our Deal
I have previously ranted my frustration at people who cannot pronounce simple words. If someone says the 'our' as 'ahhh', why would you have them representing a company called 'OUR Deal'?
Disposable Nappies
Explaining to us that little boys and little girls pee differently .... really? I would assume that these ads are marketed at parents of small children. I would be happy to bet my fortune on the fact that these people have already changed many nappies on their off-spring. I would also be very happy to bet that the aforesaid parents are pretty familiar with the differences between boys and girls in the 'nappy region'. It only takes being peed on once to work out where the thickest part of the nappy needs to go!
Bonds Underwear
The current ad shows the male and female models being chased by trains and dinosaurs to demonstrate the comfort and flexibility of the underwear. Not sure how often you are chased by dinosaurs, but I am usually happy enough if I can get up from a chair without my undies straying from their appointed place. If I was trying to outrun a train, the comfort of my undies would be pretty low on my list of priorities!
It is not that many years ago when underwear could only be advertised on television if the models did not move. They had to stand there like shop window mannequins so as not to incite passion into the viewers! I think the trains and dinosaurs are having the same effect.
Carefree
Again we see a huge difference today in these ads. Feminine hygiene products were not advertised on television in my youth. That would have been far too much detail. Just as well, because I would have rather have moved to a desert island than sit and watch ads for pads and tampons with my father in the room!!
These days things are a lot more open and frank, and a good thing that is too. Why be embarrassed by natural bodily functions? However, perhaps things are going a bit too far when we have pads floating in swimming pools and girls telling us 'it just seems weird shoving this up there'. Certainly 'shoving' is not an action I would recommend!!
Souvenaid
You may not be familiar with this product. It is a vitamin (probiotic ?) drink that is said to assist people with early signs of Alzheimer's. (I tend to take a little more notice of these products these days!)
The older gentleman in this aid is the patient and happily tells us how the product is holding his symptoms at bay. That's all fine. It's is his 'wife' that drives me crazy. At the end of the ad she leans on him, looks straight at the camera and says 'he's even taking me on a holiday'. There is just something about the way she says it. You just know that the next phrase out of her mouth is going to be '.....and I'm gonna get laid'!!! Thank goodness the camera stops before she gets there!
Nutribullet
This ad opens with the line 'we live in the most overfed and undernourished nation in the world'. It goes on to show that this machine will improve our health by blending up fruit skin, seeds and all. That's fine ..... except .... the voice over is in a very strong American accent and the spelling in the ad uses Americanized spelling. This ad was not even made for Australia, so its opening statement is completely irrelevent. Why bother even putting it on our screens?
My final gripe is with the McDonald's questions ads.
Subjects in the ads are invited to ask questions of McDonald's to ally their fears about the value and nutritian in fast food. All pretty standard questions ... 'what's in the special suace?' etc. One lady wants to know 'why the eggs are so perfect'? And boy is she angry about it! Take a chill pill lady. They are only eggs (and have you never heard of egg rings?)
I am sure there are many more ads out there that would, or could or do, drive you crazy. These are just a few of the ones that jumped out at me.
Catch you soon xxx
A couple of weeks ago, I did something I have NEVER done in my entire life.
I walked out on my job. That's right. No notice., no farewells. I just wrote out my resignation effective immediately, packed my belongings in a bag and walked out!!
I am not normally an impetuous person. I like to think through the pros and cons of a situation so that by the time I make a move, I am really sure of what I am doing. Unfortunately, in this circumstance, the situation had become unbearable and for the sake of my emotional well-being I had to do it.
So what went so badly wrong?
When I first started working for this company it was wonderful. I felt like I had fallen on my feet and loved going to work each day. I was challenged, stimulated and felt like I was doing a great job. My statistics certainly proved that.
Then the 'powers that be' decided to change the management structure of the company. This effectively ensured the resignation of the centre manager and out of hours manager. Both these managers were 'people' people. They were warm, friendly, approachable and caring (as well as being inspirational leaders). They were replaced by two very different people, whose only interest in the workers was how much profit they could produce.
From then on things went down hill.
Teams were disbanded and people moved around like pawns. Twice, I was a member of a team which was split up (the second time no-one in management even bothered to tell me, I learned about it through friends).
The pay system was ridiculous. No-one understood it, including team leaders. If you wanted to question anything it had to be done over the phone to the HR department ,who seemed unable to understand your issues much less explain the system. Trying to comprehend this totally convoluted pay system was frustrating and the records that were kept for annual and sick leave never matched reality.
The final crunch came when, again, the 'powers that be' decided to overhaul the products we sold as well as the entire computer system. It was horrendous.
I have never worked anywhere that had so many people resign in such a short space of time.
While most of the team leaders tried really hard to prepare us and support us during the change-over, it was an impossible task as they were not given all the facts and data.
We were assured that the changes would benefit our customers with cheaper prices and better value for money. The total opposite was what really happened. How do you justify price rises to a long term customer. They are getting nothing extra for their money. I was not comfortable with having to excuse this. Certain products doubled in price (we were never warned this would happen) with no real justification. It was embarrassing.
People were either not trained properly, or did not understand their training, because a lot of time was spent fixing other people's mistakes and again, trying to explain and justify this to the customers.
It all became too much and the final straw was being short-paid. The response to my complaint was unsympathetic and unresponsive. That was straw that broke the camel's back!
So I walked.
How do I feel about what I did? To be honest the first couple of weeks I was deeply depressed and shocked. Now, in hindsight, I realise it was the very best thing I could have done. I protected myself and have no regrets.
I have met some lovely people through this job. I have appreciated their friendship and look forward to keeping in touch with them.
Endings don't have to be sad and traumatic but unfortunately this one was. So now I move on .... but to what? That is the big question! Both LOML and I would like this to be the end of my working life. Enough is enough. What happens next? Only time will tell.
All is right with the world. I am a happy woman. The footy is back.
The week has a correct basic structure in place ... Friday night football to start the weekend.
Since the day I was born, the passing of Summer has meant that the great gods of aerial ping pong were back on the MCG and the greatest game in the world again consumed us (well some of us at least).
I do understand that not everyone enjoys watching the footy (or watching any sport for that matter) but for me, life would be wrong without it.
My darling father played 71 games for the Essendon Football Club between 1951 and 1957. So I was born with red and black blood pumping through my veins.
After he finished playing, Dad was the runner for the then coach John Coleman (in those days there was only one runner for the team).
He went on to serve on the Club committee, in several roles, for nearly 15 years.
So you can see that for my entire childhood, our family life revolved around the Essendon footy club. Dad was at the club, often 2 or 3 nights a week, but it was the weekends when footy really took over. Dad would leave early Saturday for the game and Mum, my brothers and I would follow later.
I spend my early teens sitting on a splintery wood seat on the boundary at Windy Hill. My older cousin was president of the cheer squad, so we had prime seats and I would sit there with my homemade red and black flogger, screaming and yelling through four quarters of excitement.
After the game, we would meet up with Dad, a quick hug and goodbye and my brothers and I would walk home. Hopefully we got there in time to watch the cartoons followed by the replay, while Mum and Dad celebrated (or commiserated) with the team and their partners. Sometimes the celebrations would make their way to our house. It was always loud, alcohol soaked and caused much suffering the next morning!!! We were always under instruction to stay in our rooms ..... no matter what!!!!
I remember waking one Sunday morning to find a very high profile footballer sound asleep in our empty bathtub, surrounded by empties!!
For a couple of years Dad was the Chairman of Selectors for the club. By that time I was in my late teens and can I just say it was an amazing time in my life. I was young, blonde and reasonably attractive and my dad was Chairman of Selectors ...... hmmmmmm. I never went without a date!!!
Now, I am not naive enough to believe that change would not touch football, but as I sit here tonight watching my beloved Bomber boys I cannot help but think back to the football of my childhood. Oh how it has changed.
Football is now a profession, not just a weekend sport. There is big money involved and the players who value their roles look after themselves. Dad had been known to have a pie and ciggie at half time ... that would never happen now. Neither are weekly games celebrated with alcohol fueled parties.
Most guys look after themselves knowing there are another 20-odd weeks of hard slog ahead of them.
Some of the other things that have changed probably could have stayed as they were.
Hair
The haircuts (or lack thereof) of some of the players are ridiculous. There are a couple of Bombers boys in particular, that irk me. Dyson Heppell and Michael Hurley ... I am looking at you!! Someone needs to take these two boys off the ground, give them a good hard slap, re-adjust their 'do's' with a large pair of garden shears and then send them back on again!!! Hurley currently looks like a poor man's Fu Manchu with his little top knot and as for Heppell .... there are no words!!!
Shorts
Short are called this because they should be. These days you could call the lower garments 'baggies', 'sloppies' or 'daggy nappies'. Come on boys!! If you've got it, flaunt it. Women viewers love our sport but we also greatly appreciate a tight pair of footy 'shorts' (especially on a rainy day) *sigh*.
Rules
Oh please, powers that be ... stop changing the rules all the time. It is very hard for us oldies to keep up and most of them don't make much sense anyway.
Starting Date
Football is, always has been, and always will be ... a winter sport. Please don't make our beautiful boys start playing in 40 degree heat in the middle of Summer. Each time the season is extended ... up go injury rates. No matter how hard they train, the human body can only take so much. Bring the season back to a reasonable number of games and let the players have some kind of viable body left after they finish playing!!!
Gag Football Wives
I don't have a lot to say here except .... Tanya, shut up!!! Football is James' job not yours and he has the balls (see previous note on shorts) to defend himself. Don't wait till he is out of the country to blab your mouth off. Be a good little footballer wife, bleach your hair, put on a pretty dress and just smile!!!
(This comment may be influenced heavily be very recent events)
The Bombers are ahead in the first game of the year. It seems like a perfect place to finish my rant.
Except to say that to my utter joy, my eldest son has the same pride and joy in my father's achievements as I do. It gladdens my heart to know that after I am gone, there will be another generation to continue sharing his legacy.
I love you and miss you Dad xxxx
Happy Australia Day everyone.
I love Australia Day. A chance to reflect on how very lucky we are to live in this beautiful, peaceful country.
I do not however, conform to the stereotype that pervades the media at this time of year.
I do not 'throw a prawn on the barbie'.
I am a girl. I do not barbeque. My domain is the kitchen and I am very happy to stay there. I love to cook (heck, I love to eat too!!). LOML is not a huge barbequer either. He can and does occasionally, but after a day at work, I think the last thing he wants to do is cook dinner as well. So ... strike one.
I do not wear a hat with corks.
I do not wear hats ... at all, so the possibility of me wearing the Aussie icon is nil. I do not look good in hats. In fact, I look like I should be resting in a very special quiet place away from normal people.
Also I think the corks bobbing in front of my eyes would annoy me far more than the flies they are keeping away. Let the flies come and I will brush them away with a good old 'Aussie salute'!
I do not wear stubbies/shorts and a singlet.
Most of you know me. Therefore this really needs no explanations. It is for the betterment of the visual appeal of our nation that I refrain from this traditional attire. If you do not know me .... just take my word for it!
I do not drink beer.
I used to drink beer. I used to drink a lot of beer. My first job was in the office at a brewery where beer was on tap and unlimited! I was 19 years old at the time. This should explain why I no longer imbibe. I do however, love the taste and smell of LOML when he has had a beer. Beery kisses .... yum!
I do not own a piece of clothing made from our flag.
The flag is the representation of our nation, It is not a garment to be worn on the streets. It is not something we should be sitting on at the beach.
Respect please.
Yet, I am an Aussie and a damn proud one at that. It does not take Australia Day for me to be grateful for my homeland.
We live in a scenic and peaceful land and I really hope it always stays that way.
I love the fact that Australia is an amazing blend of people who have come from every other country in the world. They should be welcomed and learnt from. Other cultures have so much to share with us.
What they should not share are the problems they have left behind. Coming from countries that are torn apart with political/religious/ethnic fighting, I believe most people come here for a change. A chance at a new peaceful life. I understand that ties to homelands can be strong, but I do not appreciate people protesting on our streets about things that are happening in other countries.
Care and support by all means, but do not disturb the peace that you moved here to claim.
So let's raise a glass, switch on the cricket and/or tennis and enjoy what's left of 'our' day. Tomorrow, it's back to work and school. The routine of everyday life in the stunning land down under we call home.
LOML and I were out in the car yesterday. We stopped at a crossing and a lovely young woman crossed the road in front of us. I commented on how pretty she looked and LOML's comment was 'sure, but she would be high maintenance'.
I had to question further and discovered that he didn't mean she would be a difficult person to be in a relationship with. He meant that her appearance would be high maintenance. Really!!!!
The poor darling has absolutely no idea. Twenty somethings are not the ones that are high maintenance, it's us .... the over 60's!! He does not have a clue how much effort it takes to keep everything together when aging and gravity is working against you all the time!!!
Let me explain.
Hair:
Young women often have longer hair. To maintain this it requires a trim every few months, maybe adding some layers and a few highlights.
BUT
Shorter hair is usually more flattering to older women, but this requires a really good cut every six weeks. Any longer than that and it starts to look ratty. The other sad fact is that at this point in life grey hair is the enemy. To eliminate traces of the grey you need to have your hair coloured every five/six weeks. Then you have highlights added to 'life the colour around your face'! Sometimes even two of three different colours.
At this point I would like to recommend the best hairdresser in the world. Michelle, owner of Mishka Hairdressing. She is a miracle worker and the only person I have ever found who can make my meagre hair look reasonable!!! Michelle knows we well and knows I am not good at the whole five/six week routine. She now applies my highlights so the regrowth is minimised. Thanks Michelle ... couldn't do without you xx
Skin:
Young skin requires little work. Cleanse, moisturise and minimal makeup,
BUT
I don't need to tell anyone that as you age, you get wrinkles. Pretty bloody obvious, and unless you have given up completely then you go to work with all sorts of 'miracle' creams to combat the signs of aging. I also started to pay more attention to the direction I apply creams (always in an upward direction of course). Does it make a difference, probably not, but I feel better knowing I am at least going against gravity for 60 seconds a day!!!
The other pure delight of aging is suddenly you grow hair in places you never grew it before. Now I know, I know ... all that happened at puberty but this time I am talking about facial hair. For crying out loud, those little buggers appear from nowhere and no matter how hard to try to get rid of them, the next time you look ... they are back again!!!
I swear that one Movember I am going to stop waxing and plucking and I will be able to grow a better moustache than most of the guys I know!!!
Clothing:
Now this is pretty obvious. Gorgeous young things get up, shower, pop on a tube top, g-string and tiny shorts and there you go!! Heads turn, guys gape and they look incredible.
BUT
I get up, slowly, very very slowly, waddle to the shower and then it begins. You drag on the knickers and pick up the bra. This is no ordinary bra. This is a structure worthy of the Sydney Opera House. There are underwires that dig in and straps that ..... well you get the picture. So you sort of bend over and then you have to concertina your saggy boobs until the can be folded into the bra.
You choose the outfit that covers the most flesh and offends the least number of people, and there you go. Heads do turn occasionally (but not in a good way) but no-one gapes and no-one looks incredible.
I must say at this point that there is a wonderful invention called 'shapewear'. Shapewear is basically underwear that is made of some kind of strong elastic, which holds everything roughly in place. It removes wiggles and wobbles but sadly I discovered it also removes the ability to breathe!! Now I like to breathe, quit often, in fact. So it has to be a VERY special occasion for me to resort to shapewear. Preferable a very short, special occasion, so I can resume breathing at the soonest opportunity.
So there you go. There are lots of other things on this theme but I think that is enough torture for you all today.
Talk soon xxx
Yesterday, was Boxing Day and also junk mail day at our place.
I really enjoy junk mail day. We get heaps of it each week and just before Christmas it was at its peak. Each week, I trawl through it. I make lists and plans. Not all the plans come to fruition and not all the shopping lists are completed, but I enjoy the process. It gives me meal ideas, keeps me up to date with new products and often gives me ideas for gifts,
Yep ... I love junk mail.
Yesterday, however, the junk mail gave me a nasty surprise. I was leafing through the brochures for Coles and Woollies and what should be featured but
HOT CROSS BUNS!!!!!
Yes really. There they were, large as life .... gorgeous, golden, fruit filled, spicy, slightly sticky hot cross buns. On Boxing Day!!!!!
Yes really .... Boxing Day!!!!!!!!
I was shocked and horrified.
Now I am not naive. LOML works in a supermarket, so I understand commerce and trade, but I cannot see any good reason for hot cross buns to be advertised on Boxing Day other than plain, pure greed!!!
I was mulling it over today and I decided what it made me mostly feel was, sad.
I feel sad for the kids and parents of today.
It made me realise, once again, the huge difference between my childhood and those of today's little people.
When I was a child (back in the dark ages!!) we had hot cross buns ONCE a year. By that I mean, we ate them on one day a year, Good Friday.
I understand not everyone enjoys these delicacies, but I really like them (smothered in butter which is slowly melting into the dough). But we had to wait to eat these each year, and the wait was always worthwhile.
They were bought that morning from the local bakery (or homemade). There were no plastic wrapped versions at the supermarket then. We feasted on them and then they were gone for another year.
One the same note, the Easter Bunny, only brought eggs on Easter Sunday. They were not around in the shops for months before. Easter was a time of culinary delights. Much anticipated and enjoyed. The anticipation was often the best part of it. We counted down the days, we got excited and we loved the build up.
So I was thinking how difficult it must be for parents these days to share that anticipation with their children. Special events no longer seem so special. Delayed gratification is a thing of the past. The teasing, the build up and the excitement.
Is there anything that replaces that?
