And a bit of a cough :(
I'm feeling yucky.
This would normally be enough to send the D'Oub into a downward spiral of misery and self-pity. (I like to play to my strengths.) But, this time I'm worried. Because I'm having a party on Sunday.
Why am I having a party I hear you ask?
Because, this Sunday, D'Oub is officially over the hill. Old. Ancient. Ready to be carbon dated. Slated for obsolescence. Long past her Logan's Run sell by date.
I'm going to be 40.
|How old I really feel|
I know, I know, 40 is the new 30 etc, etc. But I'm not buying that. Cause I've got a touch of arthritis. And it's spread to my right big toe. And I'm off into the hospital for a test to see if I have an ulcer next week. I am only just over a very painful injured shoulder which I seem to have hurt opening a packet of biscuits or something. Basically, what I'm saying is, my body is shutting down. It's collapsing! Old age! I've fulfilled my reproductive role, produced an heir and a spare and a spare and a spare, so now I should be put on an ice floe and bid farewell to.
But, while raging against that dark night, I was convinced by my child groom husband to have a party. And I agreed even though I normally don't 'do' parties. So, this Sunday I'm having a shindig. And I'm hoping the shoulder stays ok. And that the ulcer keeps it's acid tongue to itself. The drink should dull the pain of my creaking joints. But a snuffle, and a sniffle and a bit of a cough. They're hard to ignore! They could diminish what little enjoyment I'll be able to squeeze out from such a shocking event as being 40.
Time to mainline some echinacea.
Overdose on oranges.
Take a long swim in some vitamin c.
And if anyone knows the way to the fountain of eternal youth, do let me know.
Or at the very least a good plastic surgeon.
See you on Monday, if I survive,