Yesterday’s blog post conjured up a very naive, klooster koek image of me. I re-read it this morning and that’s the impression I got.
This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m actually a bit of a floater. Always have been and I guess I always will be. By this I mean I neither fit into a cool, hip, rebellious group nor a conservative, blinkered somewhat naive group either. I have friends from both these groups but I tend to shy away from wild girly nights out saturated with wine bar hopping and strippers. (nothing wrong with that). And I tend to find the whole holier than thou, butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth, have never seen a penis, group somewhat boring too. I like friends that make me laugh, bring up the odd intelligent bit of titbit every now and again, battle with gyming, eating, parenting (you know….the usual larks), girls that curl their legs up on the couch, glass of wine or mug of coffee in hand, cock their heads to one side and sympathise with your everyday frustrations.
Every now and again, I go through a lonely, not quiet connecting with my fellow-man/woman phase. I think I might be in one now. You say tomatow and I say tomayto kind of phase. It always happens around my birthday. It’s in two days time. 38 years of age. I’m going through a real pimply stage at the moment. That sorts of obliquely makes me feel a snidge younger.
Age is a personal feeling and “thang”. I still sometimes feel like a horny teenager when I see Johns arms and thighs. And then other times I feel like a grumpy geriatric old fart when he just simply breathes. Seriously…..that man deserves a medal! I’m like a moving target at times.
Two more sleeps until I get my pressies. I love presents, if you must know. And I’m shallow enough to admit that I like lots and lots of things to open. The more the merrier.