Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Things I Shouldn't Have Done (Part 1)

Regrets, I've had a few...
Without breaking into song, it's occurred to me in the past day or two that there are some things I'd rather not do again. Regret is a horrible feeling. It's like Guilt Lite. It has a particular sting, not unlike guilt, that makes us shake our heads and wonder "how could I have been so... dumb?".
Without laying every sordid detail of my life bare, at least today, here's part one. I'm ashamed to say there's more to come.

Regret 1. The Fringe.

Oh, lord how I wanted it, thinking it would make me look younger, infinitely chic AND keep my forehead warm for winter. I was thinking Lily Allen meets Coco Chanel in her fringe phase. It has become more like a wonky awning on my forehead and is just a pain in the arse. The blunt, ironed perfection that leaves the bathroom seems to morph into a puffy, wavy mohair blanket by the time I reach the front door.
To make it worse, every time I get rained on (which lately seems to be twice daily, at least) it further turns on me by going in four different directions. I have taken to wearing my daughter's clips to keep it out of my eyes, which is a completely wrong look on so many levels. I just hope it grows quickly so I can tuck it behind my ears sometime before my 40th birthday in a few years' time.

Regret 2. The Hangover.

Last Saturday evening my sister and I decided somehow, somewhere along the way, to drink our body weight in wine. It was not a premeditated strike on my liver, but it was one hell of a job. As we weigh roughly the same, it was a pretty fair fight. We laughed, we ate, we looked at family photo albums. Our partners watched the rugby, so essentially ignored/left us to our own devices, which was getting completely faceless. Let's just say it was fun while it lasted. I assume my hubby said goodbye to them and called them a cab, because I don't remember going to bed. Sunday morning was NOT fun. Or Sunday afternoon. Or even part of Monday. Now I know why I don't do that any more.

Regret 3. Saying YES.

I do not sew. I sometimes think I'd like to, but my brain wagged the compulsory sewing classes we were subjected to in years eight and nine. How I escaped with nothing but the ability to badly fix a hole in a sock and replace a button amazes me.

So imagine my surprise when my mouth overrode my brain (which actually isn't that surprising or unusual, now I think of it) at Preschool yesterday. The sign on the notice board said "Help! Parents needed to help sew costumes for end of term concert. Please see Mrs Wilson." So I did, and offered my expertise. I warned her I wasn't very good but was willing to help. I now have 10 tracksuits sitting in a bag awaiting sequinning and sparkles for the 'gravity' dance number. I now regret that the preschoolers will have the crappiest costumes in the whole school because S's mummy doesn't know when to shut her mouth.

So much regret, so little time to blog about it. Stay tuned for more, coming soon.