Feeling old

I'd lost a pound in slimming class this week. Cherie, our teacher, says she loves watching me doing jumping jacks because I do them with a big smile on my face. I told her it's only to take my mind off the pain. 
Another slimmer said she thought I was skinny. When I told Husband this he asked, 'Did she have a white stick?'


I'm cutting him out of my will. I told him I want to rewrite my will so I can write my sons out. He said, 'You did that last year.'
(Not really.) (No point, I don't have anything to leave.)


I'm not skinny, by the way. I'm okay but have a wodge of fat around my middle and on my hips. It's a middle-aged woman thing I'd like to believe. As protection for your hips that are about to start crumbling.


I usually grumble about my eyesight getting worse. It seems unfair that I can exercise and tone up my other muscles (to a certain extent) but not my eyes. The optician said that's because it's not muscle; it's due to hardening of the bendy bit at the back. But today when I was exfoliating my chin I put on my glasses - to help me see what I was doing - and looking at my face, in close-up with my glasses on, is not something to engender confidence and assurance. I decided it's quite kind of God to decrease our seeing ability. Some of us would never leave the house if we could see properly.


But I can't blame not seeing for the fact that I put face-wash on my hair in the shower. That was just because I was thinking about other things. (Whoever said women can multi-task hadn't met me.) Which wouldn't have mattered if it hadn't been the last bit in the tube. Still it would have been worse if I'd washed my face with shampoo. We all know what shampoo does to mice. Or perhaps it doesn't any more thanks to the sacrifice of many brave mice.


I'm rabbiting, otherwise known as procrastinating. I have to get back to Lulu ...