In reply…

This post is a reply to @felicakes recent blog post which you can read here. At the end, she asks “What’s your life story?”

This is it.

My first memory is from when I was three years old. I remember standing next to my mother in the kitchen as she baked a cake.

When I was five, I used to play “Getting Married” with my best friend M and her friend R. R, being the boy, had to pretend to marry each of us in turn. He gave me my first kiss (it was quite slobbery).

I was eight when I decided that I did in fact like mayonnaise.

When I was nine, my teacher thought there was something wrong with me because I was too quiet. I was made to see a social worker for a year. I think she guessed about Dad.

When I was ten, I was so scared of my father I attempted suicide. I’ve never told anyone about that.

When I was twelve I got my first period. I have hated my uterus ever since.

When I was thirteen and in my first year of high school, I was bullied extremely badly. I wore my hair in a long plait every day and was smart. And I was still a quiet person. This made me the perfect target.

I was fourteen when the creepy old man who lived down the road groped me.

When I was fifteen, I was paranoid that I was fat. Looking back, I realise I actually had a banging body – slim yet athletic, perky C cups (much to the envy of all the girls at high school who were struggling to fill their A cups) and not a speck of cellulite. My how things change….

I was sixteen when I was first kissed by a boy. I thought that because he kissed me he wanted to be my boyfriend. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Cue my first broken heart.

I was eighteen the last time I saw my high school crush. Then I spotted him eleven years later on MasterChef. I’m 100% certain that he would have no idea who I was if I introduced myself to him again.

When I was twenty-one and living on my own, a man broke into my flat and beat me up pretty badly. I called the police. Then I called again. And again. Then I went to the police station. An officer scribbled down the man’s description and then I was told to go home. They never took an official statement and the man was (obviously) never caught. I get anxious around men when I’m in confined spaces (such as buses).

I married my darling husband when I was twenty-three. We eloped. It did not go down well with the in-laws. So we threw a big party a few weeks later and I think they may have forgiven me. I didn’t get a cake or a wedding present or a white dress. Yes ladies, it IS possible to have a wedding without the big hoopla.

At twenty-eight I realised that I actually did want children. Lots of them. Preferably five. But we’ll see how we cope with one first! ;p

By thirty I hope to be pregnant, bare-foot and pottering about my kitchen.

What’s your life story?


Stop The Bitchiness

I’m tired.

I’m tired of all the bitchiness that’s going around at the moment.

This bitchiness is sometimes disguised as humour in the popular news websites and blogs of the interwebs, although sometimes writers don’t even bother to hide the cruel words amongst a few jokes. And to be honest, all this bitchiness is turning me away from those sites and those writers. We’re told “Don’t judge, be kind!” on one site, but a few days later a nasty and disdainful piece of writing comes out disguised as a humorous opinion piece and the “no judging” concept has flown out the window.

Yes, Lara Bingle has done some dumb things in her time, but haven’t we all? There’s no need to write condescending articles about her. And perhaps the gold frock Delta wore at the final show of The Voice was not her best fashion choice (although I actually quite liked it), but instead of calling her brain-dead can’t we just embrace the fact that we all have different tastes when it comes to fashion? And don’t even get me started on the nastiness that surrounded Chrissie Swan and THAT women’s magazine article.

We’re women! (Okay, only about 50% of us, but I’m hazarding a guess that most readers here are women – feel free to correct me if I’m wrong though.) Whatever happened to the sisterhood? What happened to sticking up for each other and supporting each other? What happened to embracing differences and realizing that none of us are perfect and make brilliant decisions 100% of the time?

I’m guilty of being bitchy at times. It’s a fine line between trying to be honest and tell it how it is in that blunt and slightly sarcastic way I’m known for amongst family and friends and crossing the line into downright bitchiness just for the sake of it.

So I’m going to try and stop being bitchy. It’s juvenile and there are better ways to get my point across.

I’m not perfect, I know I’ll cross that line every now and then. But I’ll try not to, because words can hurt just as much as a slap in the face. Now if only other writers and social commentators could try and join in my “Stop the bitchiness” pledge….