Is a mid-life crisis because we're afraid of getting older? Or is it that we can finally do what we want, without getting told off by The Parents? Actually, I'm not entirely sure, because Ms Fab has been a Bad Girl and is afraid of telling her mum. Whisper this next bit: Ms Fab got a tattoo. Shhhhh...
It's actually rather lovely. She has a thing about feathers, you see (no, not like that). They appear when she's feeling a bit down, or sometimes they just appear. Not the little fluffy bits that blow about, but proper flight feathers. She says it's been happening for years. When she said she'd been thinking about getting a tattoo, I recommended a guy I've seen a couple of times in a nearby village. The look of him would have scared my grandmother, but he's lovely and a wonderful artist. Anyway, the deed is done and she's looking upon it as her mid-life crisis moment.
It's actually rather lovely. She has a thing about feathers, you see (no, not like that). They appear when she's feeling a bit down, or sometimes they just appear. Not the little fluffy bits that blow about, but proper flight feathers. She says it's been happening for years. When she said she'd been thinking about getting a tattoo, I recommended a guy I've seen a couple of times in a nearby village. The look of him would have scared my grandmother, but he's lovely and a wonderful artist. Anyway, the deed is done and she's looking upon it as her mid-life crisis moment.
I had my first tattoo after spending a month in hospital a few years ago. Like Ms Fab, I'd been thinking about having one for ages, but was afraid of the judgments people might make. After having been told that I was extremely lucky to be alive, I thought 'Sod it,' and have since lived life as I wanted to, and not as others might have wanted me to.
Even so, I can remember a family dinner at which the Sexist Uncle saw one of my tattoos and said that he hoped it was 'one of those transfer things'. I was, I think, about forty, but still felt as if I was in for a telling-off. He's now got used to them, and my ear-piercings, but think he may faint when he sees the Dr Martens that I've at last worn-in. I've had a few compliments on them, but he remembers DMs as something worn by skinheads in the 1970s (mine have roses embroidered up the sides, but I'm almost tempted to get some old-style cherry-reds just to wind him up).
The Husband has recently passed his fiftieth birthday, and there's no sign of a mid-life crisis yet (or, at least, not that I've found out about...). He's already found out that woman are rather expensive to keep, so I don't think I'll be exchanged for a younger model. He's not into prestige cars, but used to like motorbikes, so I'm waiting for the day that the Harley Davidson appears on the drive.
My mid-life crisis car would be a VW camper, complete with rainbow stickers and surfing lessons in Cornwall. Of course, if Jake Gyllenhaal wanted to come along for the ride, I wouldn't complain...
No comments:
Post a Comment