Lovey dovey

I’ve been married for all of five years so I don’t consider myself much of an expert. Practical person that I am, I’ve never bought into the romance song-and-dance much anyway. I would, in all honesty, be ecstatic if my husband bought me a vacuum cleaner for Christmas instead of diamond earrings! Really!

The greatest love stories for me are those that survive the mundane and dull, the rigours of day-to-day living, the gradual softening of the middle and slackening of everything else. And when life is done with them, they still say it’s been the best ride.

We would be so lucky if my husband and I could have a story like Danny and Annie’s. Standby the tissues before you click here to watch it (http://vimeo.com/12562270).

Fashion victim

The other day I was caught in traffic behind a woman on a motorbike flashing her b**t crack. And since I was driving, I had no choice but to keep my eyes on the road – and the unintentional flasher. It was a long, long drive.

I’m sure she had woken up that morning, pulled on her jeans, looked herself in the mirror and thought she looked pretty darn good. I’m sure she didn’t realise that her bits and bobs were a mere half inch away from being a public figure. And I’m sure those jeans (a low slung hipster, if I’m not mistaken) were either a size too small or just not the right fit for someone with her...a-hem...assets.

See, but she’s not alone in playing fashion victim is she? Come on, admit it! At some point you’ve been guilty of unwitting indecent exposure like VPL (visible panty line), peeping underwear, too-tight, too-sheer, too-whatever clothes, etc.

Now, I’m no shoe girl. I could get by with five pairs, I think. But I stubbornly wobble around in wedges even though I’ve to carry my 12kg son simply because my calves look fat in flats and sandals. I can’t even begin to tell you the strain this puts on my back but I have refused to give in to the voice of reason.

So really, the best of us fall prey to fashion’s whims and fancies. While I pray b**t crack girl burns those jeans, I shouldn’t be too judgemental – less I trip over my wedges.

Much ado about lists

I love lists. Well, more accurately, I love ticking things off lists when I’ve done them. Packing lists, to-do lists, shopping lists, things-to-do-before-I-die lists...Scratching something off makes me feel in control, competent, serene. It borders on exhilaration!

It’s sad, I know, that I get my kicks from something so mundane. But with so much to do and each day ending with more things being piled onto my to-do list, completing even the smallest task puts some power back in my hands. For that spilt moment, the overwhelming demands of life seem manageable.

Plus lists make life organised. If you can list it, you can do/fix it. Doesn’t that just ring with hope? Give it a shot. I might have a list addict out of you yet.