EXCLUSIVE BROEKS and the DANCING GRANDMA

Some days are diamonds……some days are…..well….just NOT.

My grandmother on my mother’s side used to insist on dancing at weddings. She wasn’t used to drinking any alcohol and usually downed her glass ( or 3 ) of champagne in a few gulps. Then she would grab one of her son-in-laws by the arm and force them onto the dance floor. Where she would stay until she was all danced out…

I love dancing too.

I probably look like the dying swan from Swan Lake having an attack of the arm jerks. And I have noticed people sort of avoiding my eyes while I’m at it…but give me an inspirational beat and a few glasses of Chardonnay and I’m off ….( second post in a row mentioning alcohol….first flying and now dancing….worrying trend I’m picking up …)

Anythehow.

Onto the “Exclusive Broeks”.

I’ve recently come across a mailing service called “The Secret Letter”. You send them your bikini bottom size and they send you a pair of lace/ satin/ lace-and-satin-with-a-red-polka-dot -ribbon G-string once a month in an envelope.

Point nr 1 : I am too old to wear polka dot ribbons anywhere near my behind

Point nr 2 : My behind is w-aaaaaa—yyyyyyyyyy to big  to put into any type of bikini.

Point nr 3 : G-strings are torturous. I wore one on my wedding night and I still have it but I’m never putting it on again. EVER.

Point nr 4 : Some mail services are ridiculous.

Point nr 5: If I’m thinking that “The Secret Letter ” is a  ridiculous concept,  does it mean I’m getting old ?

Point nr 6 : Am I too old to insist on dancing when a beat inspires me???

Point nr 7 : Point nr 7 depresses me.

Point nr 8 : Sometimes I miss being 20 something. Being someone’s potential wife but not quite there yet.  I miss ….how can I put this….feeling desired.I miss someone REALLY LOOKING AT ME and not seeing someone’s wife and someone’s mother who shouldn’t be dancing in public. ( yes yes yes I’m happily married and totally in love with my children ). But still…

Anyone out there relate?

 

 

 

 

 

BLOGFRIGHT

 

We all love blog followers and commentators. The more the merrier , right? It can become quite a high to see those numbers rising and rising.  And to feed that “one of these days somebody is going to offer me *insert dream* just for spewing my  thoughts out on-screen”  fantasy .

But then comes a merry morning when you sit down to blog and the words just don’t come like they used to.

There’s a flashing cursor and a blank screen and ……….nothing.

The sad result because of one thought flashing red upstairs : YOU CAN’T SAY THAT.

Aunty C won’t like it, sister-in-law won’t get the joke, ex-teachers/ future teachers of your children will hold their mother’s blog against them for ever and ever AMEN.

So you freeze. You’re a deer caught in bloglights. You’re up on that stage and you’ve forgotten your opening line.

You, me dear,  have BLOGFRIGHT.

And it’s time for some decisions to be made. You either blog for the benefit of the audience or you blog bravely. Honestly and willing to take whatever reaction you get. If any. Because here’s another thought : Who really REALLY cares about the intricacies of your every single emotion?

And why do people read other peoples’  blogs?

– To be entertained?

– To feel relief because “Hey, I’m not the only one after all?”

– To get a kick out of someone elses failure?

– To offer support?

Who knows.

But this here blog will remain what it is. A not-so-sweet mom of two sometimes-sweet–mostly-exhausting children, trying to remain un-depressed and satisfied with marriage and life on a farm. Miles and miles from the nearest mall and fancy restaurant. Boohoo and all that.

Read. Don’t read.

Follow. Don’t follow.

Judge. Don’t judge.

And every once in a while leave a virtual hug and cup-a-tea. ( or glass of white? )

If you’re feeling sweet, that is…