Another in my occasional series, The A to Z of The Laughing Housewife.
O is for orange juice – I’ve been craving it lately. Not so nice for my bladder – drink too much orange juice and I’m like Julie Andrews in ‘The Sound of Music’: When the blog writes, when the pee stings…
The last time I drank this much orange juice was twenty-three years ago. I was pregnant with Tory Boy and I must have needed the Vitamin C. How embarrassing would that be for him, to have a sibling twenty-three years younger? It would almost be worth it, just to see his face.
I’m pretty certain I won’t have that pleasure but, if I start craving cheese and tomato on crackers (my other craving), Tory Boy will stop speaking to me.
No, I have to face it – I am a woman of a certain age; it’s probably my ‘ormones. This is where my Scouse accent comes in, if you were wondering. We Liverpudlians drop our aitches, extend words like ‘like’ to ‘lichhhh’ and talk about ‘me mum an’ me dad.’
Me Mum was my age now when she watched me get married. I thought she was old then; now, I’m not so sure. They say fifty is the new forty so if fifty is the new forty then forty is the new thirty and life begins at forty which must be thirty and at thirty I was raising babies. When does my life begin?
O is also for ‘owl’ as in, ‘self-pitying ‘owl’.