Before you continue reading this, a word of warning: My boiler packed up days ago, I am freezing, there is no hot water to keep myself or the dishes clean. I am glad that someone invented hot water bottles. Yes, I am in a seriously bad mood. On top of which the internet keeps cutting out (so both you BHB and Magpie will have to wait for my finely chiselled answers to your comments on “I am a girl” till I find time to rewrite the damn things lost in the ether AGAIN). If only the cat had the courage to die too I’d be a much happier woman.
I don’t know where to start venting my spleen: I too came across Magpie’s statistic (this is with reference to his comment on Grannymar’s usual Thursday’s Finest). I shan’t go into detail why some children were brought up to think that the stork only delivers to the young, but at least I finally understand GM’s penchant for sexual preoccupation in her ‘jokes’. And this will sort her toy boys from the old girl – Viagra not withstanding. I have never dreaded old age – that mist in the distance – but might be pushed over the edge by GM and her unveiled references. Will consult my mother on this before buying a ticket back in time.
Once more being appalled at GM’s sense of humoUr I have since been advised by an authority higher than my conceited and ill-informed self that the less you can partake in any joy of life the more you will dwell on it. Let’s put it another way: What you, GM, might pass off as self-deprecation in the best of English tradition is just putting yourself, and all other 60 +, down; leading - according to the teachings of our Cheerful Monk and Ramana – to a self fulfilling prophecy.
At least I now know what a ‘cougar’ is. And a ‘Silver Fox’ (this is why every woman needs at least one gay friend – you learn things which will NOT help you to survive when push comes to crash).