I think I've finally grown up. I had a bit of an Epiphany last night when we were having dinner with some of our closest friends. I realised that I've stopped feeling as if a night isn't complete without a quick flash of an inappropriate part of my anatomy. I'm not suggesting that I was contemplating baring flesh last night, more that I was aware, (as we fondly reminisced over many a boob-flashing moment), that I hadn't done it for ages and didn't really feel the need anymore. A definite sign of ageing is that I'm beginning to forget why I found it amusing in the first place. I make it a point of principle to refuse to be embarrassed about any of my previous behaviour (quite lucky, considering), but I do think now that there are better ways of showing off.
We're not just talking about random nights down the pub either, but quite monumentous occasions. Zak's Godfather relished in reminding me last night that I flashed my pants at Zak's Godmother during the after-party of Zak's Christening. Apparently there was 'some old man' in full view too, I dread to think who that was.
I got my boobs out on my wedding day. It was nearly the shortest marriage in history. Granted, again, it was not during the service, but still, a topless bride in the classy establishment that is St. Michael's Manor regardless of whether it is 3am or not is not a good look! Stu told me off on that occasion and I stropped off to bed only to realise that I was so tightly pinned into the remainder of my dress that I couldn't technically strop to bed without his help. (Bridesmaids had long since ceased to be of any use.)
An ex-boss of mine still takes huge delight in reminding me of a curry we went for where I decided to dunk one of my breasts in the chicken tikka masala. (Seriously, WTF?!) As I recounted this particular story to Shelley and Tony last night I had a nasty creeping feeling that on top of that being really quite ridiculous behaviour already, I wasn't sure if it was actually MY chicken tikka masala in which the boob dunking occurred......
When I was in my mid-twenties I thought I would never change. I was proud of my outrageous actions as they were what made me me. Acquiring a husband however who didn't really stand for that sort of malarky took the wind out of my sails a little, as did becoming a local teacher, (can you imagine the headlines?). Most importantly though, I would hate to think of Zak or Sebi having to bail out a half-dressed and decidedly sagging mother in the next decade as they are trying to find their feet socially in St Albans. Time to keep myself fully buttoned up (well nearly) and think of some other ways in which to grow old disgracefully. ;-)
Quite. I certainly don't share my Jalfrezi with anything.
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