More Funny, please…..
Looking in the direction of laughter, love and lightheartedness in 2022.
Last year was shit. A year of misery and upset and depression and eating disorders and assessments and emergencies and meetings. Total and utter shit and I’m glad to see the back of it.
And that…was my last moan of this year.
Next year, my word-for-the-year is LoveHearted.
Yes, I made it up — who says you can’t make up your own words. Well, truth be told, I didn’t make it up, it arrived in my head ready-made (or I read it somewhere and stole it, who cares!?)
What it means is instead of turning my head to look at the misery, the suffering and the stress (in my work, my marriage, my kids, my friendships), I choose love and I choose laughter and l choose lightheartedness.
I want more funny in my life.
Laughter is like love in bubble form.
And you wouldn’t believe it could be so simple, but when it occurs to you to look for the funny with the intention of writing about it, you find it everywhere.
It’s like someone took the ‘misery’ lenses out of your glasses and put the ‘funny’ ones in instead.
For example, I looked in the mirror this morning and it dawned on me that I am looking more like my Dad as I age.
Not my Mum….my DAD!!!!!
That’s funny.
Well that made me snort a little bit of toothpaste out my nose anyway.
I’m 50 this year. Time to learn how to wear make-up methinks — I am so not ready for the ‘look at that funny man’ pointing of small children in the supermarket.
If I want to, I can remember my make-up routine of the 80’s — glittery blue eye-shadow, silver eye-liner, far too much blusher, but I don’t really want to.
Instead my ‘beauty’ regime for 35 years has been this:
- Clean and clear on face and to wipe of yesterday’s mascara
- Oil of Olay
- Mascara
That’s it. There is no night-time routine.
I don’t even know where to start to learn how to do this. Trinny’s instagram posts maybe? These just seem to make me feel even more incompetent and confused with all the little expensive pots you apparently need.
I asked my 14 year-old daughter to do my make-up the other night and after spending 15 minutes ‘contouring my nose’ (which as far as I can tell means painting it a shimmery blue for some reason), she tried to do my eyes and gave up with an exasperated sigh: ‘There’s nothing I can do, it all makes you look like a hooker’.
So those are my three options: An eighties-throwback. A hooker. Or a man.
Or maybe on a good day an eighties-style drag-queen hooker.
I have no idea if there is any hope for me on this ‘learn how to do make-up’ journey this year, but I have no doubt it will be fodder for much comedy.
Let’ see….
