Assuming the pretzel position

Moving on from yesterday’s “first world problems” … my new least favourite phrase comes out of my kids’ mouths at least once a week/day:”I’m tired!”

They’re tired! Teenagers who sleep 10 hours a night minimum, then go to school for six hours, then spend the rest of their waking hours in bed watching TikTok are TIRED.

Eye roll.

They’re tired because they lie in bed all the time.

I am a 52-year-old menopausal woman who has a full-time job, while also taking care of a house, two needy dogs and two messy teenagers as a single mother.

I win the exhaustion contest. Not that it’s a competition, but if it was I’d win.

I’d love to spend most of my life in bed, but I don’t because I’m the sucker who lets my kids get away with doing nothing while I do everything.

I tell a lie. The youngest made banana bread last night and I almost fainted when she picked the banana peels up off the bench and put them in the bin. It was a milestone moment.

So, while my blood boils to hear them tell me how tired they are, I don’t have a leg to stand on because I don’t do anything about it. I just grind my teeth a lot.

I smile and nod when people offer hints on how to get my kids to help around the house, but I don’t have the energy to do any of the things they suggest. One friend said she refuses to drive the kids anywhere until they’ve cleaned their bathroom. Just thinking about the war that would ensue if I tried that one exhausts me, though she swears it works for her.

So I really should sort it or shut it.

Anyways, the tired, dishevelled mess that is me while working from home was waiting for my morning coffee at my favourite cafe yesterday when a fellow mum who is far more together – or at least is better at keeping up appearances – lined up to get her flat white.

I was SO embarrassed to be standing there in ALDI leggings with dirty hair and no make-up. She was immaculately dressed and coiffed and made up. She looked absolutely fabulous. I did not. We chitter chattered for a few minutes and vowed to have lunch together soon.

I walked away determined to make more of an effort.

The effort started, for some bizarre reason, with waxing my lady garden.

That made me feel even older and more tired, because waxing your lady garden when you are 52 and rapidly losing flexibility isn’t easy.

If you are young or a bloke or both and have no concept of what I’m talking about, I’m going to set you some homework.

I want you to take your clothes off, sit on the bathroom floor, drop your knees to the tiles, bend over and examine the spot midway between your penis and your anus … or your pubis and your anus if you’re a woman.

A mirror can make this slightly easier, but it’s still a literal pain.

I want you to imagine getting a paddle pop stick, dipping it into a plastic container filled with hot wax and applying it to patches of hair in the region.

Then imagine waiting for the wax to dry, picking at one end until it lifts slightly and ripping it off in a decisive movement. Imagine repeating this 500 times while bent over in a pretzel position.

Oh … and imagine punctuating the process with making regular trips to the microwave to reheat the wax, then resuming the bathroom floor position and prising apart your accidentally glued together flaps so you can recommence the process.

I invariably regret deciding to wax my lady garden about 15 minutes into the process. Yesterday was no different.

I’ve resolved to leave waxing my eyebrows to the professionals, despite those hairs being far more easily accessible. I might even book a toenail paint for good measure … I wonder if they wax toe hairs?

Ohhhhhh my aching back.

Song of the day: The Power Station “Some like it hot”


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