MIDLIFE BUT NOT AS WE KNOW IT # 02
It turns out that potty mouth syndrome is a real thing in your fifties. The swearier the merrier apparently - apart from when it comes to your fifteen year old daughter. You don’t have her approval on this one but seeing as you regularly excel at the embarrassing parent thing… nothing ventured, nothing gained etc. As for everybody else, if you have some sharply observed witticisms to share either in person, on paper or via the internets, serving them up with an occasional spicing of the odd curse word here and there causes little offence. Indeed it may go as far as to add some gravitas to your argument, thereby rendering you feistily intelligent and not to be messed with. Try it out for yourself. It sure as shit worked for Sarah Knight - she is the queen of sweary wisdom as far I’m concerned.
You’ve lived within a ten minute drive of the beach for the best part of twenty years but only now you go from “I’ll paddle but I’m not going in past my ankles” to “I’ve ordered myself a dry robe and I’m going swimming in the sea at 7:30 a.m. at least three times a week.” Apparently, spending twelve weeks in lockdown amid a global pandemic will make you do a complete 360 on a lot of things. You used to take at least ten minutes to get fully immersed in a warm pool on when on holiday (remember those?) but now you can walk straight into the sea in the UK in mid June and start swimming in just under sixty seconds. You’ll use the odd curse word here and there until you catch your breath (see above) but you love it. It makes you feel alive. You are officially a Meno Mermaid.
Having utilised the services of a home cleaning company for a few years, when forced to take a look at what counts as essential outlay for household expenses, you cut back and take on the task yourself. And here’s a funny thing - you kind of like it. You put on headphones and head off to the Spotify or podcast zone as you zip about the house on the end of a hoover, dusting as you go. When it’s done, you feel a smug pride in having a clean, fresh smelling house that will remain dog hair free for the next five minutes. Upon completion, you light a scented candle, pour yourself a large glass of Rosé, grab a book and put your feet up on the dog hair free sofa. You used to feel guilty about admitting that you didn’t clean your own house (WHY?) and now you’re not sure if you should admit that you enjoy cleaning it. Again… WHY?
Ah Fuck it! You’re in your fifties and you no longer care remember?
