In Sickness And In Health

40schick is sick.  Not that well-deserved sick that comes from a riotous night on the vino with the besties or the body meltdown that comes from a marathon of consecutive school-night social festivities. On the contrary, it actually occurred on the first day of Dry July which I suspect was my body’s way of protesting against its very own human rights violation.

Just your average, someone-sneezed-near-you-on-the-tram kinda sick – but it packed a punch. Quarantined from work and banned from running (surely the coach could get a defibrillator into a backpack and we could just wing it?), I  was left with waaaay too much time on my hands.

By Day 3, it was very clear that I had some real sick-girl quirks.  This prompted some codeine-fuelled musing about just another of those dating-in-your-40s rituals like meeting the parents for the first time –   being super-sick in front of your new significant other for the first time. To avoid anyone experiencing that horror unprepared, here’s what it looks like.

Delicate lungs

Although you wouldn’t know it from my ill-advised propensity to belt out a karaoke tune, my lungs aren’t up to much. (actually, you WOULD know that if you had heard me try to nail Sweet Home Alabama or Dancing Queen) These lungs will latch onto a single stray atom of cold germ and draw it deep into lung tissue with the enthusiasm normally demonstrated by an 80s Wall St type with a line of cocaine.

Once there, the germ finds an ideal haven in some lung tissue that has been decidedly dicey since my birth – given this birth took place in an era where smoking during pregnancy only warranted a single eyebrow-raise rather than a blaring cigarette-packet warning and the engagement of Child Protection Services.

This culminates in a hacky cough that will convince anyone sharing a couch with 40schick to half expect to find themselves suddenly seated next to a glob of forcibly expelled lung tissue.

Never happens in The Notebook.

Tendency to over-dramatise

Just as there should be a breathalyser app on the iphone to prevent drunk-texting, there should be a thermometer on the keyboard to prevent you invoking Dr Google if your temperature is even a mili-degree higher than rock-solid normal (which is 37 degrees as I learned this week from Doc G)

google

No good can ever come of this. Do this and you’ll know that coughing is not designed to cleanse your lungs of germs but is in fact evolutionarily favourable to the bacteria by spreading it far and wide. I will naturally skip past the entry that suggests coughing is favourable, to the bit where it suggests malignant lung tumours may be to blame.

I even found myself doubting the highly trained staff at Epworth Hospital this week and began staring intently at my chest X-rays sticky-taped to a window, looking for sneaky shadows, applying everything I’d ever learned from weekly instalments of ER.

No one likes a drama queen. Romance over – faster than you can say acute interstitial pneumonitis.

There’s no glamour

No one looks glamorous when sick. Some of us however, are able pull off a pallor with the skill of Cate Blanchett. I am not this person.

By day 5, my unwashed hair had taken on additional thickness by virtual of a few feverish night sweats and now had a touch of the 80s Bon Jovi about it. And not in a good way.

bon jovi

I had also taken to schlepping round in a bathrobe. Not a classy Egyptian cotton waffle-weave, but a 10 year old beige concoction in a fabric not found in nature but now favoured as a foundation for animal-print onesies. Said bathrobe has long since lost its belt to the bottom of the wardrobe (where a seething morass of shoes have devoured it in that cannibalistic way they regard rival accessories) and is now held closed with a clothespeg.

bathrobe2

Glam-factor-zero.

Weird food habits

Being unwell makes me contemplate everything I may have done to contribute to this state, most notably inattention to a balanced diet.

It is at this point that overcompensation kicks in ie I

  • subscribe to Gwyneth Paltrow’s food blog
  • codeine-drunk-dial myself up a Nutri Bullet (anyone who watches daytime TV knows what I mean)
  • make my famous vegie-lentil-all-in broth known affectionately as poop soup (so-named given the colour of the lentils conquers all the greenery)

brown soup

None of this maketh a Nigella-style domestic goddess.

 

In short, it’s best that you grow up together in your 20s, experiencing gradual and well-spaced shared episodes of sickness generated by great nights out with multi-coloured cocktails, when the only help you needed was a scrunchie to keep your hair out of the action and youthful enthusiasm to do it all next weekend. Somewhere in this journey you sign up for ‘in sickness and in health.’

Far easier than coping with your new 40-something girlfriend turning into a barking, tatty-fleece-clad hypochondriac overnight.

At least I’ll never be ill enough to think I can rock a onesie.

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Why you won’t find love in a supermarket

Dearest readers, I’ve been feverishly prodding you in a forward direction along that big dating parade of the post40s age group, helping you dodge the rookie mistakes, drawing on the quirky unanticipated learnings from the experiences of our local celebs and generally doing my level best to help you #findlove despite how vociferously every core of your being might protest the prospect.

But every now and then I need to go on the defensive and declare a certain area the no-go-zone, the Chernobyl-two-headed-fish of dating, the veritable Fu-Ku-Shima of coupledom.

And here I declare of one the prime DMZs of the dating world….

The supermarket

The supermarket is NOT a place where you will meet your #notebook Ryan Gosling, find a chance to press your fevered forehead against a protruding Hemsworth forearm vein, or frenetically swap sustainable recipe ideas with that delightful hipster chap from River Cottage Australia.

Here’s why…

Bad lighting

Just as you are never going to look your best in rehab, you are never going to look your best in a supermarket (and when it comes to deprivation and despair, these institutions are on par)

fluor

No one shines bright like a diamond under the industrial lighting appliances that our supermarket chains buy in bulk (their purchase order must read: ‘150 x the Lets Make You Look Like A Long Term Inhabitant Of Guantanamo’)

Unlike the skinny mirrors in the department store change rooms designed to stop you crying over swimwear, or the soft focus lighting of cosmetics counters, supermarket electricals are hard-core. Believe me, until Instagram launches a #supermarketfilter, there’s not even a remote Kardashian third cousin that will post a gluten-free-aisle selfie to the world.

It’s not designed to make YOU look good. The supermarket gods pick a carefully-patented hue that makes the mystery-meat in Chorizo appear caramel smooth and thrice frozen prawns dredged from Thailand look like freshly-deceased local crustacea.

You? You will look like every downtrodden before-pic of any one of the #realhousewivesofanywhere without the costly attention of a cosmetic-surgeon-on-retainer.

 

Judgement abounds

You thought you were scared of gymnasium mirrors or Eastern suburbs kindy drop-off fashion faux-pas?

In your local supermarket, there is judgement everywhere:

  •  Paleo Guy is staring down at your basket, looking for an errant grain. A non grass-fed protein. a fish item with a loosely defined heritage
  • Hot Vegan is scanning your purchases, searching for non-soy dairy.
  • Fructose Intolerant Dude is turned off by your melons
  • Average Aussie Bloke is deterred by your lack of burger mince or party pies and is quizzically eyeing your over-indulgence in greens
  • The guy toting the Maggie Beer Quince paste only has potential to be your gay bf

 If they are in there, they won’t be for long.

Available men are about as likely to venture into a supermarket with any level of enthusiasm as 40schick is likely to spend quality time in either Bunnings or Baby Bunting.

If there is an available man in a supermarket he will whip in and out of there quicker than you can squeeze an out-of-season avocado (given you WILL spend time evaluating whether paying more for an avocado than a double shot expresso is worthwhile)

Blink and you’ll miss one of them checking out their big-serve Lean Cuisine and 1kg bag of grated cheese (the only thing that makes Lean Cuisine bearable) – even if they are slowish by virtue of being rank self-checkout amateurs.

97% of men are there under duress and not actually available

Most of these are easy enough to identify

  •  They are toting sanitary products
  • They are toting an infant in a sling

sling

Your only shot?

Your only hope is to snag a hipster who hasn’t had time to tram it in to Mediterranean Wholesalers and who tried to sneak anonymously into Woolies. In this case your strategy is…Go Random

Stock up with any combo of the following

  • Pearl Cous Cous
  • 2 x cans imported lentils
  • Wasabi in a tube
  • Bassets Liquorice Allsorts
  • Pocky

combined

Or…. Just Go Kale. You will snag any well-researched male who is trying to Nutri Bullet his way beyond his 20s obsession with Alpine lights, forgive his early-apprenticeship ignorance of asbestos or thinks greenery will help restore a Jim-Beam-rotted liver.

It’s your only shot.

Just. Go. Kale.

kale

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The 40s chick guide to being the new girlfriend

Amidst the deepest darkest aloneness of being newly single, there is always a tiny. splintery, glittery spark of hope that you might emerge from this status and become someone’s new girlfriend.

We want this, right?

We know that yearning to start afresh with all mistakes and regrets cast aside constitues a reinvention akin to Drew Barrymore’s transformation from troubled wild-child to serene baby mama.

Well, rejoice and clap like a deep south gospel singer because no matter how remote you think the possibility may be, it CAN happen.

Yet like anything that is new and great in the realm of dating encounters, sneaking out of the FB single status has its perils. And here, joyfully, I lapse into something that I am drawn to as fervently as a single chick to vodka….using D-list celebrities to illustrate
how not to do things

(I must apologise at this point to my blog readers outside Australia who don’t have a clue who I am talking about. But look at the pics and you will get it…)

Let me introduce the ‘new girlfriend of the moment’

Gabi Grecko

madonna like

 

Unremarkable if she was the girlfriend of a

• Anonymous DJ
• Hairdresser that is still practicing how to get brassy out of blonde
• South Eastern Suburbs bogan

More remarkable as she is the new girlfriend of australia’s most oddball bachelor.

geoffrey

And that she supecedes his last model

matchy matchy

..by seven years, thereby establishing an age difference between the two new lovers of a mere 47 years.

Here are the lessons we can all learn from the GG

One – Take a moment to QA your social media history

We can all learn from this. For us:

  • Ditch the 1980s Contiki Tour Greek Islands Toga Party pics
  • Delete the compilation of cute kiddie pics that your Dad threw together for your 40th birthday
  • Take a digital sledgehammer to your recent pinterest obsesson with Channing Tatum, Ryan Gosling and Ryan Phillipe. Apply the lens of sheer unavailability (to you)

For Gabi

• Delete the weird yoga bendy poses.

bendy gabi
• Understand you are not Lady Gaga

social media gabi

Get the name right

One of the perils of the modern digital age is that you may not actually speak verbally for a period. You may read screen names, attributes, positive qualities and backstory to the point where you feel you may be indulging in a book review rather than lining up a squeeze on Tinder.

Given Gabi likely snagged AussieGeoff$$$Guy101 on Sugar Daddies ‘R Us.com there was no handy prompt to remind her that her new prospect was actually pronounced ‘Jeff’ and she unnecessarily endured a short period where she unwittingly pronounced his name Gee-off.

(she actually fessed up to this little snafu)

Nail the first outing

The first time you emerge in public is a pivotal moment.

I don’t mean the period where you skulked around Starbucks trying to be anonymous, where you kept it all on the down-low, where you kept your new love protectively hidden from the public eye…or away from your parents while you tried to figure out how to explain that a) you met online and b) the other party is not a serial killer/Nigerian scammer.

It’s the first outing IN PUBLIC

If there was a 40schick guide to first public outings, my tip would be that it not involve

a) a funeral. (let alone a funeral of a much loved football legend) AND
b) you wearing an outfit that involved unrestrained cleavage overflow

funeral

 

Be dignified in the treatment of the ex

I’ve already blogged on the topic of exes. It warranted
a good 700 odd words in its own right

But here, I reinforce that you don’t go all big-time slander on the ex.

ie

“I want to make it clear I’m not trying to be her lookalike. I’ve had so many articles say I’m a Brynne lookalike. It’s so repetitive,” she says.
“Brynne’s style was trashy, mine is art. That’s the difference.”

I’m sure that if I had the interwebs-ability to construct an online poll, complete with flickery bits that indicated who was in front, that the audience would be completely unable to distinguish GGs style between trashy and art (something tells me that her throwback to the Madonna lace gloves might lean to trashy)

Beyond this she hashtagged a pic of her kissing her new aged-squeeze to her ex’s mother (if there was ever a rule that need stating out loud, it is that you would not do this)

Messy all round peeps.

But let it just serve to give you hope…that if you are poised with mesh-gloved fingertip above the keystroke that broadcasts to FB that you are ‘in a relationship’ that there is a bunch of missteps that you can bypass with all the finesse of a delicate tip-toe cha-cha.

Beware the tale of how Gabi Grecko got her Gee-off.

(I’m totes #TeamBrynne)

If you are taking your online dating a little more seriously than this blog, check out this website for fabulously simple online dating advice.

Single @ The High School Reunion

I’m here to tell you friends, that you WILL encounter many pitfalls in navigating through the process of being single in your 40s. The early stages, the rookie mistakes and the perilous mid 40s makeover.

But you will prevail. I promise. Onwards and upwards.

However there are a few things that can set you right back, hurtling you back into the vodka-as-a-food-group mindset of the newly bereft.

A stellar example would be your ex getting re-married. This will no doubt have you scuttling to Adele and trilling ‘I heard that your dreeeeams came true” Often. Emotionally. In the shower (which is like space – where no one can hear you scream)

Not quite up there, but certainly unsettling….

Being Single At Your High School Re-Union.

Odds are, that at the moment that you finally congratulate yourself at having achieved a level of stability, the demon incarnate that is Facebook will poke you with a stab as pointy as the shiv of the incarcerated with a little prompter about your upcoming High School Reunion.

But like the wingwoman that I am, I’m here to tell you….

….you’ve got this.

Here’s the 40schick guide to surviving the high school reunion as a singleton.

One – its not the 80s anymore

Take a moment to revisit the horrors of fashions past. You are not going out in public garbed in:

  • The horrors of taffeta
  • The insanity of lace gloves (amped up exponentially if they were fingerless)
  • A slick of blue crème eyeshadow that gummed up your eyelids like an intense case of conjunctivitis

taffeta

gloves

Instead you are quite likely to rock a skinny jean with a slinky top, a pair of Milanese suede boots that cost about half of your 1975 first-car-Torana and no doubt an improvement in hairstyle.

Single or not, you are going to feel way better about yourself than you did when rocking a bad 80s home perm.

hair

Two – the hot guy has probably deteriorated

When you were the geekster with glasses and an embarrassing ability to analyse Shakespeare, you no-doubt had a teenage yearning for the football jock who grew tall, filled out and sauntered through the school with all the model-bagging confidence of a young Leonardo DeCaprio.

Shortly after arrival at said reunion, you will be doing an internal happy dance to realise that he’s experienced an early onset pattern baldness and an Achilles injury that has curtailed a potential career and has had his beer carbs redirected to his belly.

overweight

Three – the cool girls have plateaued

The girls that smoked brazenly in the girls toilets? The girls that had the ability to crook a Cutex-home-manicured finger and reel in the top-percenter guys in class? They’ve become an unwitting poster girl for the effects of smoking for thirty years, are experiencing the logistical challenge of navigating the child-support arrangements that result from the spawn of multiple partners and somehow their life seems a little more complicated than yours. (if that is possible)

Four – you can count the bullets you escaped

Oh yes, you could be married at this point.

You could be married to the moody musician that became a life-long stoner.

In some alternate universe you could have had your crush on the Phys Ed teacher turn into reality – in which universe you would now be married to someone 60plus that was now well instituted into the wearing of polyester tracksuits.

tracksuit

Five – there is alcohol

…and unlike the late 80s, where your access to alcohol relied on:

  • swiping swigs of your beer-drinking Dad’s unloved Christmas-present-bottle of Johnny Walker
  • that manipulated birth certificate, artfully mocked up on your Olivetti then bathed in a wash of blue food dye (80s kids know precisely what I mean)

this time round, its perfectly legit, and this time round you are unlikely to end up in the school sick bay after the year 12 social, claiming migraine-induced projectile vomiting.

cocktail

Just sayin…..

 

If you are taking your online dating a little more seriously than this blog, check out this website for fabulously simple online dating advice.

What Your Celeb Crush Says About You: Robbie Williams

May is a tricky month.

As a resident of the southern hemisphere it is a dismal time, a moment where we plummet towards winter, a time where you realise that persisting with peep-toes in the office will signal to your colleagues some kind of desperation ie

• You can’t afford a closed-toe shoe
• You are hanging on to summer with that same level of denial you had when you clung to your battered Nokia when everyone else went i-Phone

Neither are desirable perceptions.

In the greyness of a May day in Melbourne, I was fortunate to be in the company of my besties. This is a crew who can turn around even the most potent seasonal affective disorder given that their stellar company is exacerbated by virtue of being accompanied by carbs and chocolate. In good company, I let loose with a plaintive cry.

I need a blog idea. Anyone?

A little bit of *crickets*, a little bit of chomping down on some excellent Vietnamese food, a little proffering of material from an acquaintance recently relegated to single. (but a little too recent to blog about given my rule that the singleton needs to be able to smile about it before I blog about it)

So I moved back into fertile territory, a place I can always probe for fodder without angst. Celebs.

And, lo, it spawned not just a single blog but something I can translate into a series of blogs with all the spin-into-a-franchise potential of the ‘New Housewives Of’ brand (with only slightly less commercial viability)

Here goes…

The ‘What Does Your Celebrity Crush Say About You’ series.

I should point out at the outset that this is not about what any given celebrity might SAY ABOUT YOU in the event that they met you/knew you/tweeted about you (because, lets face it, unless you are Lindsay Lohan and you featured on her back-of-a-napkin conquest list that ‘accidentally’ got into publication, this is not vaguely mutual)

This is a bit like as astrology in that ‘if you are a Pisces, this is what’s going down for you’ ie if you have a crush on Robin Thicke, this is what it means.

Let me put it all on the line and throw out a case in point.

 40s chick has an extreme obsession with Robbie Williams.

If you don’t understand how deep this obsession is, you should ponder this anecdote.

40s chick has a serious day job that involves major corporations. A major corporation recently introduced a new person into 40schick’s world that caused a little jolt, in that his first sentence was uttered in a such an authentic Robbie Williams Stoke-On-Trent accent that 40s chick whirled sideways, thinking that a rock star had entered her midst rather than simply a mid-level software geekster with a rather compelling tone of voice.

.40s chick now listens to status reports on recent software improvements with her eyes half-closed because the voice is the same is what she’s heard on her oft-replayed DVD of Robbie at Knebworth.  (the gentleman in question looks nothing like Robbie)

Moving right along…

Here is what you can discern about yourself if your celeb crush is Robbie Williams

You know that first impressions aren’t everything

Simply put

• Bad, bad hair highlights
• Untamed eyebrows
• A jumper over a soccer top, and
• God-forbid, a fob-chain

first 1

doesn’t preclude a pop-star obsession far beyond that youthful period where you realise that Froot Loops aren’t really breakfast, vodka isn’t really lunch and a toasted sandwich isn’t dinner.

You can wait out an addiction

I can distinctly recall a Christmas family gathering where somehow Robbie Williams came up (perhaps it was a little chit chat about Robbie’s Melbourne December concert) and I took advantage of the food-coma-lull between main course and dessert to declare

‘but Mumma, Robbie doesn’t do drugs anymore’

This was done with tremendous conviction as if I had fronted the pop-star to sit alongside Aunty Janet and needed to smooth the way.

addiction

Shortly after, the Rob-ster celebrated his 33rd birthday in rehab.

You are insightful enough to picture ANYONE as a daddy

This is about foresight. This is about belief. This is about optimism.

This is about a belief that the right woman can convert a man.

(unfortunately the right woman wasn’t a 40schick who grew up in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne but was a famous American soap-opera star with a lovely smile and excellent, excellent hair)

In any case, the bad-boy became a daddy.

baby

The upshot?

• Robbie is still touring and hasn’t had to delay concerts in favour of rehab stints
• 40s chick has tickets to his Melbourne concert in September with some besties
• 40s chick can hear software updates delivered in Robbie-like tone on any given Wednesday

Therefore, all is good.

Your turn. Tell me your celeb crush and I will tell you what it means……

George Has Left The Building

It was less than 12 months ago.

I was in a veritable Magic Faraway Tree of topsy turvy worlds.

Why?

George Clooney had been ditched by his girlfriend

#stilldontgetit
George 1

This week, the media is awash with tales of how the seemingly-eternal bachelor has been nabbed/tamed/snagged by an uber-savvy brunette who has already earned the moniker of HRH (Human Rights Hottie) and at every opportunity is flashing dark locks and some seriously chiselled cheekbones

amal

Amal Allamuddin

All the while:

  •  single women the world over, regardless of the likelihood that they would have ever crossed paths with GC, let alone done any snaring), and
  • every gay man who believed George’s procession of girlfriends was a carefully choreographed ruse

sighed…. just a little.

Let’s just put aside our feelings that WE might have been that ONE, and consider here what it would have taken to snare the world’s most eligible bachelor.

The Good News

  1.  You don’t need to be blonde. Since 40s chick has a long history of the relentless pursuit of blonde in an ongoing battle with my genetic predisposition to mousey, and to the detriment of my credit card balance, this is cold, cold consolation.
  2. You can have a major shoe shortcoming.       This will include inappropriate combining of short boots and beige stockings, (who does peep toes with stockings?)

.peep toes

 

and a very clashy approach to flats

?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

The Bad News

  1.  You need to be Oxford educated and speak three languages (and the Braille/lala-speak that comes out of you after 1.5 bottles of Veuve does not count as one of these)
  2. You need to have clients that include Kofi Annan and Julian Assange, you need to have a role advising the UN and you might also need to be the legal adviser to the King of Bahrain. Being an occasional letter-writer to the Herald-Sun and a protester to the local council on the topic of inappropriate suburban medium-density housing (hello, City Of Boroondara!) may not count.
  3. At the tender age of 36, when 40s chick was still trying (and failiing) to nail that pivotal decision point where you walk away from Tequila shots, you need to be capable of representing the interests of the entire population of the Ukraine.

Which only goes to prove, that instead of George being the one who got nabbed, it might just have been the reverse, that Amal was the uber-catch of the singleton world and that it is GC that is counting his lucky stars that he planted an ethically-mined sparkler on someone with slightly more ambitious life goals than a blonde lady-wrestler.

Just sayin….

If you are taking your online dating a little more seriously than this blog, check out this website for fabulously simple online dating advice.

 

SATC for the Uninitiated

This weekend, 40s chick was on a running camp weekend.

Running camp weekend is dominated by females and is therefore also known as

  • Eating cheese and crackers weekend
  • Supporting regional wineries weekend
  • Jaffas-as-breakfast-food weekend
  • Sobbing over chick flicks weekend

With our ‘bunkhouse’ comprising 7 females, with *Donald (*name suppressed for many many reasons) being the lone male soldier and valiant partner of one of the other females (and somewhat north-facing in terms of the age demographic) he was always going to find it an interesting sociological foray. From about the South Gippsland Highway turnoff when Donald realised he was about to spend the weekend housed with 7 women, he was probably wondering how it was going to go down (as well as looking for the nearest haven of testosterone for some kick-to-kick and sports talk).

Instead, Donald found himself in the company of some endorphin-fuelled, carb-loaded females perusing a chick-flick selection that included When Harry Met Sally, 4 Weddings and a Funeral and Love Actually amongst others. (at this point, despite his running program not calling for it. I would have been unsurprised to see him flee at speed for the hills)

Instead, when the consensus was that the first Sex and the City Movie was the obvious choice, he looked mometarily startled, but, separated from his partner who had gone off for a solo short run hit-out or some such, accepted a glass of chilled sauv blanc, took a seat by the cheese platter and settled in for the afternoon.

Here’s what he learned:

Even a proposal can be too pedestrian

 Knowing what we knew, except for the one SATC Movie v1 virgin amongst us, we all understood that Big’s pragmatic proposal to Carrie was not the stuff of which NYC dreams were made.

 

Big: Would you want to get married?

Carrie: Well, I didn’t, didn’t think that was an option.

Big: What if it was an option?

Carrie: Why? What? Do you want to get married?

Big: I wouldn’t mind being married to you. Would you mind being married to me?

Carrie: No, no, not, not if that’s what you wanted. I mean, is, is that what you want?

Big: I want you. So, ok.

Carrie: So really, we’re, we’re getting married?

Big: We’re getting married. Should we get you a diamond?

Carrie: No. No. Just get me a really big closet.

chris-noth-satc-mdn

Despite the mention of extravagant clothes-storage-real-estate, this does not reek of romance.

 

40s chicks have baggage, or at the very least a bunch of stuff that requires storage or removalists.

So much so that ‘it took four friends, three days to put twenty years into thirty-eight boxes’

So if you think that you can just spare three shelves and a metre of hanging space in your bachelor pad….

Think again.

closet

The most sensible woman can go all Bridezilla

Somehow, in the space of about 17 minutes, albeit with Vogue Magazine and a bunch of couture designers egging her on, Carrie’s sweet little vintage dress (cue Antony ‘the bride wore no-one’) got kicked to the kerb by a coffin sized container of silk courtesy of Vivienne Westwood.

 

dress

However unlikely this is to happen to your everyday 40s chick, be very very aware that the arrival of the dress-in-a-box will jack your intimate gathering into full scale nuptial-ganza and mean that your ability to name every guest sharing your dream-day is about as likely as Lindsay Lohan correctly listing her hookups (even non-chronologically) whilst sober.

Chicks will always cry, at random

In the manner of the best of running-camp-esque-relay, we all managed to turn on tears rather sequentially (no point in shedding hydration simultaneously). For some it was the Brooklyn Bridge scene where Miranda forgave Steve’s cheating, for the broody ones it was when Charlotte moved from apparently-barren to unexpectedly-pregnant, for others it was when Samantha gained a belly from emotional eating (hey, we’ve all been there right?)

The collective tears shed that afternoon over fictitious characters, if harvested and recycled would have rendered all our long-run-day electrolyte drinks redundant.

Hell hath no fury like the bestie of a woman scorned

After Carrie’s jilting, she was shrouded in a sea of tulle-clad bridesmaids, in the form of her three besties, who all plotted ways to ease Carrie’s pain and wreak revenge on Big in whatever form they could muster.

charlotte

Kudos to Charlotte who taught our hapless observer Donald that upon ditching someone’s bestie you could expect a well-rehearsed ‘I curse the day you were born’ from a pregnant ally followed by the depositing of an unexpected dose of amniotic fluid on your lovely leather loafers.

 

Needless to say, Donald has signed up for the blokey-bunkhouse when 2015 camp rolls around.

 

If you are taking your online dating a little more seriously than this blog, check out this website for fabulously simple online dating advice.