...I will be 30 years old. The big three oh. I am fairly certain that this time next year I won't feel all that different. I'm not really all that bothered about getting older. The one thing that does frighten me is the fact that I will probably be expected to act like an adult. Mind you, Mr S is a good deal older than me and still acts like a 16-year old. And there's my brother who will turn 37 in a few months and his mental age is closer to 12 than anything else. Just ask his fiance. She left me a message yesterday saying "He was out last night, now hangover and in a very irritating mood. Has scrapes on his head from wrestling 'the boys'." Needless to say "the boys" she's referring to are the same age as my brother is.
One of the people I work with is a woman who's 43. She looks about 33. I once asked her how does she do it. "I don't act my age." was the simple reply. And she is right. She doesn't. She is very professional and all about the business when the situation requires, but she is also the same woman who took out her camera and was pretending to take a photo of a painting on the wall when in fact she was photographing one of the customers who she thought was hot. He was, in fairness a nine and a half. Another thing she attributes to her youthful looks and ways is the fact that she's not married nor has she any children. She may be onto something there.
I have made a promise to myself and a couple of my friends that when I turn 70, I will start wearing pleated floral skirts teamed with thick, knee-high tights and very sensible shoes. And cardigans! Lots of cardigans of different colours and patterns. I may even start knitting them myself now that I have had plenty practice.
Yes, that's another thing that's come out of me being more or less housebound due to the freezing weather/snow/ice and other extreme conditions. I've started to morph into a 1950's housewife. I've knitted, crocheted, needlepointed, cooked, cleaned and baked myself into some state of insanity. It has kept me busy and my mind off the fact that given a choice I would much rather be at the sales picking up things that I hadn't realised I even needed until I saw them at 60% off. I have quite successfully managed to produce a woolly hat and mittens for my friend's baby boy, a scarf for Mr S(that I know he won't wear), a scarf for myself, a cushion, a door sausage (draught excluder I think is the proper name) and some pot holders. Disaster struck last night when I ran out of yarn. I found myself suddenly feeling the same way I did when I gave up smoking. It was as if my hands felt like vast, empty appendages screaming to be filled with knitting needles or at least a crocheting hook. I managed to unearth from the bottom of the closet we never use, a needlepoint kit I got from my godmother for Christmas several years ago. It is huge. It is a picture of a girl feeding a horse. It will take me about a year to finish. Handily just in time for my 30th birthday. Looks like my year ahead is sorted.