Turning 40. What now?

The time has arrived.
 I turned 40.
 What now?
 Well, now it's time to realise that  my older friends who, in the past, assured me that "40's are the new 20's", were, in fact, feeding me the the biggest bullshit in the history of human kind. Thanks for that.
40's are NOT the new 20's, I can now tell you that, dear friends.
 To begin with, your boobs, when you are  20, look UP. They look like rose buds and they point towards the sky.... 20 years later, the roses turn into prunes. And they aim at the pavement more than they do at sky. Great.
When you're 20, buying bras is not a necessity. It's a hobby.
 These days, more than a bra I need a scaffolding. And even with a scaffolding, my boobs could not look up. Sideways, with a little bit of luck, but certainly not up.
I'm not one to give up without a fight, I tried:
 A) the so called chicken fillets, placed in the bra in the beginning of the evening and found on the dance floor, covered in beer and vomit, at the end of the night;
 B) rubber bands strategically placed around your breasts and attached to your ears;
 C) super glue, smeared on the nipples and then attached to a sexy top, hoping they stay put.
I am ever so sorry to announce: neither of the above did work. Scaffolding it is, then.
 Here's what happens when you're forty: you realise that gravity is a bitch. A bigger bitch that I ever was in my twenties, if that's even possible.
When you're 20, you make heads turn.. At 40, heads still turn, but chances are, they turn to see the younger women behind you.The ones who buy bras as a hobby .The Sluts.
Not all is lost, however! Women in their 40's can still get a lot of attention. My advice is to wear bright red lipstick, a skimpy skirt and nonchalantly walk past a building site, possibly during the builders' lunch break.. I guarantee you, it works wonders for a quick ego boost.
Here's what happens when you turn 40: you realise you can still be choosy with friends you hang out with, with the food you eat and the booze you drink. But, (you guessed it), you can't be as choosy when it comes to fulfilling one night stands....

I mentioned booze...ah, the booze.When you are 20, you can handle alcohol. Boy,  I certainly could! The beer would start flowing on Friday afternoon and would only stop by Sunday evening,
 Only then, with my make up intact and walking carelessly with no shoes, I would dance my way home.
By Monday morning I would wake up full of energy ,with no hang over, rosy cheeks,  and several new contact numbers in my phone.
At 40, (and I have tears in my eyes, as I type this) you can no longer drink as much as you used to. (sob). Doing a "pub crawl" means you will be crawling straight from the pub onto an ambulance.
 If you drink more than two pints, you will end up spending more time in the toilet than with your friends,and people will think you are the toilet attendant and will demand lollipops and  tampons from you. In fact, you'd better to always keep a stash in your handbag, just in case.

After my 40th birthday, I woke up in the morning and I was grey. Rosy cheeks? My ass.
The only color came form my eyes: deep red, courtesy of several veins burst, as I puked my own bile into the toilet.(That was when people realised I was NOT the toilet attendant, after all).
And how about waking up the morning after, feeling full of energy and with no hangover? Ha! A piece of dog shit squashed by an army of filthy pigs would have had more  energy.....
I woke up in my bed (this also did not happen often when I was in my twenties), managed to open one single eye (the other was kept shut by the surviving fake eyelash) and reached for my phone...surely, I had at least one new exciting contact number from the night before, right?!
I might be 40, but I am still hot, right?! Even if I need a scaffolding to hold my prunes, I can still end up with exciting new contact numbers in my phone, after a night out, right?! Right?!

And sure enough, I did have. Under the letter "B". "Booze Brothers- Speedy  Delivery".
Here's what you also learn at 40: time goes by, beauty fades,  heads might not turn as often  and gravity fucks with your life, but the ardent desire to enjoy life and cherish every moment of joy, never, ever ages.
I like this concept. I think I'll drink to that.

Knock knock....who's there?

I've had enough of cakes.
I.Have.Had. Enough. Of cakes.
I've never had a sweet tooth, you know. Not even when I was young. Sweets give me the shits. Sugar gets stuck in my dentures and it's very, very bad for my diabetes.
I love pies, I do! Steak and ale? Yes, please! Mushroom pie? Any time!
The little bugger knows that all that sugar might kill me, oh yes, she does! But what does she bring, every single fucking day? Cakes.
She crosses the woods, unaware of the perils, wearing that hideous, little red riding hood I would not wear at a fancy dress if they'd pay me.
With a silly smile printed on that cute, annoying little face, she turns up at my door step every single day. And it's always the same story.
knock -knock.
"who's there?"
"It's me, grandma. Little Red Riding Hood. I brought you a cake to make you feel better".
Oh, fuck. Not again.
Why not bring a trashy magazine, for once? Or a pie? She knows I love pies!
And where on earth does she find the time to pop by every day? Doesn't she go to school? Doesn't she have homework to do? Doesn't she know more annoying  brats like her to hang out with?
She's an evil, crafty little bitch and I cannot believe I am the only one who understands her cunning plan! She's feeding me all these cakes because she knows all this sugar will eventually kill me.
I am diabetic, you know, sugar will kill me!
She's after the inheritance, that's what she's after! She thinks I will leave everything to her, since she's my only grandchild. As if!
She doesn't know I have already made a will. Once I'm gone, well, I have left everything I own to my lovely neighbour, Mr Wolf.
 He's such a good hunter, you know. For months he's been giving me the most gorgeous fresh meat to fill my daily pies. Not ONCE has he brought me cakes.
He knows sugar might kill me. He also know that once I'm gone, he will receive a fortune. He is ever so grateful!
 He keeps me company. He asks a lot of questions. Mainly about my will. He is so interested in me and I feel less alone....
Oh. Someone s knocking at the door.
That must be him.
I'd better go.
He is so thoughtful. He knows my granddaughter will be here any time soon. He's really looking forward to meet her.
He said he's got a surprise.
It must be a pie.