Hormonestogravestones

I have decided to bare my soul and offer you an introduction to my writings, that I hope one day will develop into a book. I wondered if I could be cheeky and ask you, the reader of this blog, for some honest, constructive criticism. I thank you all in advance…. Now I am going to vacate the area to chew my nails and visit the lavatory on numerous occasions for a nervous wee awaiting feedback :)…….

CHAPTER ONE- intro

Her hair flowed majestically in the wind just as it depicts in the typical opening movie scene where the beautiful young twenty something throws herself in the arms of the epitome of toned masculinity. Their lips meet in a sweet lingering kiss, she feels the sensation of butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach and she ….. STOPPPPPP……… hold up and reverse right now , where are the toilet facilities please? Seriously, where are they? …… NO I mean it now, where the hell are they?………………… hold it …. Hold it ….damn buttons , I knew I shouldn’t have worn this. SHIT….. anyone have any spare knickers please?  This 50 year old is now moist for all the wrong reasons!

THE REALITY

Her hair flowed wildly, into a tangled creation of ‘dragged through a hedge backwards’ resemblance, with flecks of silver grey where she had missed with the plum coloured hair dye. The attempt to cut and style her own bonnet to produce soft bangs that elegantly framed her face, as demonstrated in the Youtube videos she had closely absorbed, only resulted in an uncanny likeness to the 1980s ‘Motley Crue’ heavy metal band. All was not completely lost however, as she placed her phone on re-dial until her long-suffering childhood nemesis of thirty-seven years answered. The friend, trying desperately to swallow her laughter, provided a guided tutorial – technology in its finest, enabling the catastrophe to be averted somewhat. Everyone knows that once the friend had clicked off her phone, she would be hysterically squealing in laughter with tears running down her face, informing her family, “she’s done it again, go look at her on Insta”. Okay, so hairdressing clearly was not her forte and all further attempts should certainly be debated before being executed and scissors hidden from temptation. Moving on……

  Her face, no longer taut with natural spring youth, seemed somewhat exposing a ‘lived in’ look. She had contemplated applying ‘Annusol’ to her facial wrinkles to see if they would lessen the visual blow to others however, she was hesitant to use the tube she had seen hidden in the bathroom cupboard behind the towels (Now I bet you are all attempting to be Inspector Clueso, who has the piles?). She had been offered Botox and fillers by one of her children, to which she had eloquently declined, once she had composed herself and ignored the internal voice screaming – You is olddddd mother!  She came to the conclusion she was to grow old gracefully or disgracefully, whichever the case maybe, avoid chemicals and invest in some monster cellotape which could stretch out the wrinkles. She had acquired the idea of adhesive measures from being an avid follower of ‘Nadia Sawalha off the telly’s, Youtube channel, although Nadia did purchase the real deal and not tesco cellotape like this old trendsetter had. Seemingly ever the ‘make do queen’, cellotape, if applied with precision so it does not adhere to the hair and rip it out at the roots, does provide the desired effect of youth, if only for a few seconds. Go on, run to the bathroom now and have a go!

Her eyes glisten marble green as she squints through the scratched lenses of the age-old spectacles, too frugal to get them replaced and not ready to face the optician again. On the last and as yet, final visit to sort her vision, the optician was sent scurrying for tissues as her customer sat sobbing loudly in the chair incoherently stating she was so happy that she could see the letters now. The optician looked on bemused whilst trying to engage empathetically as she was forced to listen to the joys of menopause. In all fairness to our protagonist, at least she spared the optician her menopausal bladder issues.  There is no doubt that the optician, no older than twenty-six, drove home after her day at work, cracked out a huge bottle of wine, downed a glass in one and thought ..OMG I am NEVER getting like that.  And we all know, the ones of that certain age know, YOU WILL GET LIKE THAT! You will cry at adverts for persil, find grey hairs where they should not dare to tred, laugh hysterically until you hear the words in your head…’you’ll be crying next’, and yes, there you are, the flood gates open and the death stare is perfected to all who enter the three metre radius. She had spent many years, following the creation of her little humans, implementing the traditional mummy death stare. The tilt of the head forward just a fraction, raise the eyebrow ( always more effective if you have glasses so one eyebrow can be clearly observed above the frame), stare directly at the little human, who is presently smearing poop up the walls, try to make your eyes pop (without the magic of makeup) and do not smile. The silent words of “Really?” emit into the air, bouncing off the walls. That’s the one, the mummy death stare, it also works on partners, pets and any family member who dares to cross the ‘not funny’ line. Who would have guessed that it was the stare that would last a lifetime and become multi-purpose.  If you consider its usages, it should have been on the education curriculum, “Right ladies (yes it was sexist in the 80’s), today you will learn the death stare. This can be used to deter your offspring from eating your last chocolate cookie when you are about to menstruate and provide warning to your partner that they are not funny for feeding your children sweets before lunch or hinting at the idea of copulation”.