How to turn 37

Last week I turned 37. Here’s a run down of the day.

$ spent on new hair = $99

$ spent on new makeup = $99

# of problems = it wasn’t 99 and a bitch wasn’t one. (pah, I’m hilarious! See what I did there…!)

# of new dresses purchased for birthday event = 1 (although 2 or 3 maybe slipped into the wardrobe as back ups)

# of pair of shoes worn = 2 (the wedges to flats strategy worked a treat. Wiser as well as older).

# of times I triple checked my appearance before leaving the flat to make sure I was at my hottest = a gazillion

# of times my heart jumped into my mouth at the prospect of bumping into Posh Boy = 6 or 7

# of times I nearly passed out with nerves as I went to meet PRP and Frosty the Snowman (her boyf) = 2

# of times I nearly passed out from severed circulation due to overzealous spanx = countless.

# of time my heart jumped into my mouth at the prospect of bumping into Posh Boy after I had finished my first glass of bubbles = 0

# of times I swept the crowd looking for Posh Boy = 0

# of glasses of bubbles consumed = unknown, maybe ask me how many bottles

# of bottles of bubbles consumed = I lost count after 3 (between 4 of us, although I have since been told we drank more than this). But I’d had a few ciders by then…

# of ciders drank = I think it’s fair to assume I was drinking a bottle every 30-45 mins.

# of sunburns = 0 – oh except for my poor head

# of branded parasols commandeered from the barman = at last count there were 5 under our table

# of branded wine glasses perfect for picnics commandeered and smuggled out quite discreetly in my beach canvas bag = 9. I blame Gym Bunny.

# of times since I’ve cursed Gym Bunny’s name and I play wine glass tetrus in my cupboard = countless

# of setting the world to rights conversations I had = 2. Poor Gym Bunny and WROS.

# of times I told my friends I loved them = I do believe the answer to this is in direct correlation to the number of bottles of bubbles consumed.

# of times I cursed wearing spanx = enough to never want to go there again.

# of times I unsuccessfully tried to get out of bed in the morning = 2

# of minutes it took to clean up the muesli I seemed to have thrown around the kitchen when I got home = 30 mins. I had to move very slowly.

# of minutes it took me to find my other shoe = 15 minutes. One was by the sofa the other was in the bath. Seems I washed my feet before I went to bed. I’m sensible like that.

That’s what turning 37 does to you.

37th birthday

3 thoughts on “How to turn 37

  1. Wow, you totally planned your 37th more carefully than I am planning my wedding. I just… suck at these things! I am glad to hear you smuggled wine glasses out – we have been known to steal empty Stella Artois pint glasses. Not because we need them or because we consider them suave, but because after 4 pints you deserve that fucking glass!

    My own wedding is going to have to be spanx-tacular, mainly on account of my aforementioned love for pints but also because I am addicted to carbs.

    Happy happy 37th birthday Northern Lass, sounds like it was a riot.

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