Growing old is compulsory – growing up is optional. – Wenchy 15/365

This story is basically true. The first part is definitely true. 

The boy I dated when I was 14 and had two sons with is heading for 50. We are attending more and more 40th birthday parties where you bring wine as a token of sympathy, and later hand over the gift, including my husband’s 40th which was great fun. I recon my husband is dead sexy.  Sex with a 40 year old is much like having two twenty year olds in your bed (just saying….), just less awkward with bigger hands, plenty experience but with all the heavy breathing and great thighs and grey hair on his chest to lust after.

I find that kind of thing sexy as hell, then again I grew up with a crush on Phil Collins who had no hair, is real short, has no thighs worth mentioning but dead charming and he knew Jesus loves him, although he can’t dance. Even Phil is now heading towards saying THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD…. and running out of “Greatest Hits” albums to make!

 The American boy is now a grandfather and his eldest daughter, married. My second x- husband shaves his head, not sure out of fear of lack of hair, or if that is the look that all gay men in their 30’s go for, kinda like a Rabi minus the hat, and the funky side burns. My eldest biological son, Kev has finished school and I can feel the restlessness, the fear of either deciding you are going to study something or you join the working world where jobs are scarce. I am no help, I still don’t know what I wanna be. I got married three months after I finished school. (For those who are new to my blog, I was not pregnant; Kevin was born after our third wedding anniversary when I was 20). I look at Kevin and I can’t believe the responsibilities I carried at his age.  I was listening to the song “1985” and I figured, oh holy fuck…. I’m getting old and if I am getting old, Billy Connolly is getting old and I can’t live in a world without Connolly.    

Point is…. we are all getting older…. and it’s not just ME!!!!! My friends toooo!!! Well some. Others NOT. My friend Jax looks 20. Cow.

Age is a funny thing in a seriously funny kinda way. Sliding off that thought, I looked at the YOU magazine. Yes, even I who love serious literature droop down to the hell of made up facts of tabloids during the summer months. I really shouldn’t. It’s fucking depressing.

Demi Moore is in reality old, but looks 20. Now, if I had a couple of million hovering about, wouldn’t I look drop dead gorgeous and Charlie would declare me an Angel? I’m sure I could pull off an angel look if you start tucking and my eye lids and trim me down to my feet. My feet they okay. Capish? Right.

I read about this one having a baby in their 40’s and people getting divorced and married in their 50’s and 60’s and I can only imagine how far our lives, sorry – I’ve lumped you with my generation and money availability range – where people in their 50’s no longer even attempt a “grab a granny” evening at a pub. Is too cold. Then you have to take the car out. Shall I leave lights on or not? What about the Telly? There’s that show I love, best I stay in … aye…. Fuck, I can’t imagine what we shall do in our 60’s. I suspect worry about how we didn’t save enough for retirement and try Whiskers heated in the microwave. A meal for under R5!

The best you can hope for is that you are loved far more than you could ever imagine, that nobody holds a candle to an old love, that your husband in his 40’s when he hits that midlife crisis still chooses you and buy you the diamond earrings because he adores YOU, and not the girl who works late in the office with the short shirt, low cut top and perky breasts – FILING, no doubt (all that bending)…. in your 50’s you travel a bit while the husband plays golf on as many courses as possible which beats him “hit that” with as many 20 year olds….  and in your 60’s you maybe join a Bingo club or play bowls (sorry Jason, but in my head is an old man’s sport, I love you still.) something and occasionally I would LOVE TO BELIEVE you make love like you were 16 in the back of a car, just now and again to make sure your heart is still beating that you still wanted, and although the evening will end with a tuck into bed with a cup of tea, there will be a twinkle in both your eyes…….  and that if he remembers your name in his 70’s would be a real testament to love huh or a great memory. (References may vary, but I was or is married to 97% of the mean I got nakkid – with trains, cars and busses…. I missed that plane, but I still have time….) 

Anyhow, it is my believe that romance, sexual excitement and sex appeal is wasted on the young, in my case along with a thin body, great legs, fabulous breasts, a round tummy (I won’t lie, it was never flat) and a smile that could change the direction of ships – … when I could bounce (and not just my breasts when I walk), confidently buy lace and leather and know you just look HOT… and bend over, and FILE, off course or merely pick up an ice block you dropped during foreplay. *wink

Think no more of this post than a girl feeling nostalgic who now walks and her knees literally make a creaking sound – who thankfully got to keep the smile, a sense of humour and who livea in HOPE.  So much more than you may ever imagine. :)

Wenchy 13/365

13 January 2012 – My boy Kev, and I .

* Look better than I felt.

* Tapering off Lyrica from 300mg to zero. Leaves you a tad nauseous. I’ve got the Schedule 4 nausea meds, where were they when I was pregnant I wonder? (Just joking)