And so it goes without saying (but, as always, I’ll still say it) that I don’t have anything whine-worthy at this very moment. As you read this, I am likely sleeping, eating, drinking or shopping. Or preparing to do my speech in front of a room full of awesome blogger’s whose opinions I value above almost all else, and so in actual fact, the safest bet is that I’m probably drinking – covertly – before I take to the stage.
What could I possibly have to complain about?
So instead, I wrote this FFS!? Friday post as I was packing and preparing for today’s Digital Parents Conference.
At some point I have morphed into my mother, #1Nana. FFS!?
To be clear, she is the epitome of awesome, it’s just that she is also four decades older than me.
Before jetting over to Melbourne, I assessed my wardrobe with much dismay, many wrinkle-inducing frowns, and the odd tantrum to rival any thrown by The Feral Threesome.
It took all my strength and willpower not to pack the maternity jeans that I got from an Op Shop….approximately 2 years after my first pregnancy and 1 year prior to my second. The same pair I regularly wear to this day. I will almost certainly be cremated in them when my time comes to meet the Vodka Gods up in the sky. FFS!?
I have an extensive collection of flip-flops and sandals, but nothing by way of “grown up shoes”. Shoes that have a heel. I do have a fetching pair of old lady slip on’s that I bought at the CHEMIST. The kind that little old ladies get around in, teamed with knee high stocking socks which are always falling down below the hem line of their billowing faux linen skirts. Yes, that’s right. I nudged one of those sweet old ladies out of the way to get to the last pair of black size 8 ORTHOTIC NANA SHOES. FFS!?
I own two dresses. One purchased in 2003. The other copied from that dress. I’m living in firm hope that one day the fashion life cycle will see them considered in vogue, before I’m too old to wear them out of fear my hunched over old lady stance will expose my wrinkled cleavage. FFS!?
I have a pair of black linen pants that I bought at Myer in 1995. They still have the tags on. Never worn, because they never fitted me – but they were MYER LINEN PANTS and therefore I had to have them, because one day they would fit. And they pretty much do now, but it appears the floaty culottes look is passé. Again. Never mind, I’ll just keep them until that trend cycles back into fashion. Again, here’s hoping I’m not so old I’ve shrunk to proportions that see me yanking them up to my armpits. FFS!?
A lot like these, but black.
Expect I could take flight while wearing these, given the right wind conditions
Fashion victims pity me. Nay, they sneer. FFS!?
And so I turned to my mother’s wardrobe for chic, Melbourne-worthy attire. In lieu of an impressive budget affording me a new, modern, age-appropriate wardrobe of my own. FFS!?
I bypassed the collection of white ladies’ bowling dresses.
I even managed to resist the collection of bright, loud print shirts (seriously Mum, WTF is up with ALL that?)
I have instead pilfered shoes, jackets, and a few tops. After gleefully pointing out all the items that were simply too big for my
Then we went shopping together for lipstick and chose the same one. Then she showed me the best anti-wrinkle moisturiser that I should start using. (Bitch was just getting me back for the taunts about her clothes being too big). FFS!?
Then she pointed out ANOTHER WHTIE EYEBROW HAIR. FFS!?
MINE. NOT. HERS. FFS!?
If I keep plucking them out, I’m going to have to have my brows tattooed on when the white hairs have completely taken over the exceptionally dark brown ones that I should have, FFS!?
Same lipstick. Same anti-wrinkle cream. Shared wardrobe. Orthotic shoes from the chemist.
I have officially morphed into my mother. FFS!?
I can’t be more than a few years off reconsidering the white bowling dress, grabbing a set of lawn bowls, and joining her for a few ends (OMG I EVEN KNOW THE LINGO!) while we discuss our mutual contempt for the youth of today and which breakfast cereal has the best fiber content (it has to be All-Bran). FFS!?
Room for one more?
I can feel the gray hairs breaking through. On my scalp this time. FFS!?
I’m not kidding. FFS!?
And did I mention I have a bad hip? FFS!?