50! 50? FFS! Cue Time Travel *please*!

Anyway, let's not dwell on how completely 'wrong' it is for me to have reached a half century (there must be a typo on my birth certificate or something, this is NOT right at all)  and whoever just mumbled the word 'denial' can go straight to the back of the line.  NOW!

So, Dear Reader, for your delight and delectation, here is a nice little showing of 'Debs through the Decades' and we'll have no sniggering at how mad the hair's always been please :)

Me aged 0.  Maybe about 4 months or something. 
I don't have any memories of being this young.  All my proper memories begin 3 years later when my brother is born.  They say that traumatic times herald a greater recollection, don't they?  And it don't get more traumatic than finding a pink bundle of stinking dampness inside a blanket when you were told you'd be getting a new playmate and you expected it to be a white rabbit in checked dungarees (don't ask).


Me aged 10.  With Mum and Dad (I can't believe they'd have been aged 36 and 38 respectively - they already seemed ANCIENT from where I was standing... next to my - NOT WHITE RABBIT brother).  Yes I did feel completely foolish with that bridesmaid dress on.  yes, it was handmade and yes that stupid flowery hat was made of polyester and made my head itch like mad all day. Oh and yes, coloured photographs HAD been invented then but a wedding isn't a wedding if you don't get a bit arty with the photos, right?

Aged 20.  Looking every inch the Publicity and PR Co-ordinator that I was back then, for a well-known Packaging company. Note the high perm, the dark kohlled eyes, the princess Diana court shoes and the ridiculous excuse for a word-processor machine on my desk.  I loved my job and I think you'll agree that in this photo, my delight shines from within *snort*.


Aged 30, and very recently married, attending the wedding of another couple we were friends with back then.  I remember it was blisteringly hot that day and the bright orange (ORANGE!) suit I was wearing not only gaped at the buttons down the front of the skirt, but was made of linen and so looked like a concertina around the hips every time I stood up.  I also remember refusing to take the jacket off because I afeared displaying my bingo wings (hereditary).

FFS 40!  And if it looks like I'm a little squizzy round the gills it would be because I WAS! And with good reason; in the decade between the previous photograph and this one I was divorced, became a single mother with (at one stage) 3 part-time jobs and lost my mother to cancer.  The only light at the end of this particular tunnel was that at the time of turning 40 I was dating a 29 year old.  Proving that life DOES begin at 40!



Me at 50.  With the greatest person I've ever met or given birth to.  I can't believe she's my soul mate, the sister I always wanted and the best friend a gal could ask for.  If I do nothing else of worth for the rest of my life I am proud beyond measure that I will always be a part of hers.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR ME, Happy Birthday Dear Me, Happy Biiiirrrthday Dear Me-eeeee, Happy Biiiiirrrthday Deeeeeaaaaaarrrrrr Me!
*dear me* :(

Oh, and just to prove how much I have decided to embrace my advancing years, not only shall I be wearing purple for the day and paying endless trips to the toilet because my plumbing's going, I am also delighted to offer you my book, 'Re: Becca' FREE for the day...

here: 
enjoy!

much love, Debs xxx

Spot the difference?

Gorgeous carpenter man spotted this last night as we endured 'Tonight's The Night' (The John Barrowman thing). In fact he did say 'Ratatouille' but I knew what he meant, and he nearly burst his stitches laughing - it was the idea of an ageing, golden rat gamely playing the piano, eager to be taken seriously that did it. Roffle, much!