So I was in the supermarket today and as there was a long queue at the checkout I scan the women's magazines for suitable material to flick through while waiting.
I get a bit excited because on one magazine's cover it announces the 50 most eligible bachelors. So I go for that one thinking I can pick a suitable one for self (think beach house on South Pacific Island, private jet, own cook, sexy splattering of grey hair, hunky 40-ish bod sans middle-aged spread, looking for ditsy-but-strangely-attractive 30-something bad reverse parker, yada yada yada)
So I pick it up and eagerly flick to the pages of potential future husband - only there are no eligible bachelors for me. Instead I find 50 school children. I'm not kidding, they looked about 12. (They all had no body hair, but come to think of it that may have been because they chest wax.)
Anyway all is obviously not lost because outside the supermarket an older gentleman with his own flash push-bike and a few of his own teeth started to talk to me. He spent lots of time telling me that the supermarket checkout chick had asked him how he was, and he answered Give us a kiss, then you'll see how I am. I'm sure she didn't and I certainly wasn't going to hang around to see how he was. Still, I'm sure he'll make some Betty, Jean or Muriel very happy and they can ride off into the sunset on a bicycle made for two.Labels: You know you are getting older when |
I have been communing with Ms Paranoid (Very forthright member of my head committee) about this event. She says that since I can obviously no longer read those women's magazines with children as eligible bachelors, then I am doomed to the one with knitting patterns and recipes.
But I don't even like knitting ... and I'm not at all good at cooking. Sigh.