I’m so vanilla

It’s funny the things that take my fancy. I’ve become obsessed with these bird sculptures made out of chicken wire that I spotted at an outdoor sculpture exhibition recently.

They are weird and not particularly cheap but I must have them. Well, three of them, anyway. They’re to symbolise myself and my girls (oh, and I can’t afford the original nine sitting on a branch that originally captivated me).

I’ve started to realise that – despite Husband insisting that his appalling actions were driven by feeling he could never make me happy – my needs are pretty uncomplicated.

The occasional chicken wire bird or pair of shoes, friendship, family, love, affection. A trip to Hawaii never goes astray.

I am vanilla. I should have realised I’m not a more exotic flavour much earlier in life, but I kept trying to convince myself I had a rum and raisin side.

Sadly, no. I like normal. Normal is (enough) fun.

Breaking up with Husband hasn’t sent me wild or off the rails or into midlife crisis mode like it does with many divorced people.

It seems to be centering me instead.

I had a brush with out-there recently and it was something of an epiphany. I briefly wondered if I should go with it because life is too short to be square.

Then I thought, nuh. It’s not for me. And it doesn’t have to be.

It’s been yet another wake up call that it’s OK to be myself. Myself is just fine and if it’s not, then bugger off. Life is too short to pretend to be something that I’m not.

Song of the day: Fairground Attraction “Perfect”