The Kiss

The Kiss, Gustav Klimt

"You’re too scared to kiss me."

He said it just like that. Plain. Simple. A bit amused.

"No I’m not."

"Yes. You are. You’re too scared to kiss me."

And I was. I was so scared. Because I was one kiss away from complete surrender and I just didn’t know if my heart was ready to surrender to him.

I knew that if I kissed him, it would hurt. The kind of hurt that comes from feeling every feeling all at once. The kind of pain that comes from your soul leaping from your mouth into theirs. The kind of agony that is only felt from yearning for more. The kind of ache that sits across your chest from holding your breath.

I knew that if I kissed him, he would know. The deal would be done. My fate would be sealed. If I kissed that man this woman would change.

If I put my mouth on the mouth that I had watched talk to me for what felt like years of banter, how would I recover? That mouth that smiled at my soul. That mouth that asked all the right questions. That mouth that told me so many things. That mouth that millions of words had spilled out of into my mind and flooding my heart.

What if my kiss would silence him? What if everything I knew would happen to me, didn’t happen to him? What if at the exact moment that my heart exploded, his quieted?

Oh God, but what if he felt the same way? Then what would I do? This man may love me. Really love me. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that. And I don’t know if I’m worthy of that. A man like that doesn’t fall in love with a woman like me.

Does he?

Could he? 

What would he do with that kiss? Would he taste love? Would he fall into it or would he rack it up as another private conquest? Should I care? It’s just a kiss and I had kissed so many others before this moment.

It’s just a kiss.

Except I knew that wasn’t true. This was THE kiss. And I was terrified.

He was waiting. Smiling at me with that mouth. Seeing me with those eyes. Standing in front of me. Calm, relaxed and knowing.

Can he read my mind? How does he know I’m scared? Am I that obvious?

Breathe.

"I think you’re too scared to kiss me" I counter, stalling.

"No" he says. And I believe him.

Breathe.

Nearly 27 Reasons Women Want To Have Sex

Ok. So not long ago I wrote 27 Reasons Women Don’t Want to Have Sex and the interwebs went a bit mental. Rousing applause and support from the majority and some scathing commentary from a loud minority. Lots of offence was taken and there was rabid disbelief that I could write something so sexist, generalised and delusional. To those people I apologise and gently suggest to lighten the fuck up.

Further, I will offer a counter blog to my well-researched and substantiated list of reasons women don’t want to get laid. Yes, I have gathered more intel. This time, it’s a list of reasons women DO want to have sex. I tried REALLY hard to come up with 27 reasons, but I couldn’t make it past 21...

Again, I will remind you – dear reader – that I write from the perspective of a middle-aged, heterosexual woman because that is what I am. I don’t apologise for that or my point of view so if either offends you, step away from the blog.

1. We love good dads

Watching a man, particularly our man, being awesome with kids, particularly our kids, is like an aphrodisiac on steroids for us mother-type chicks.

2. Handy-men are hot

Women dig guys who can do things. Things with tools. Around the house. Go hang some pictures or put together some flat-packed furniture or mow the lawn. Hell, just wear a tool belt around your waist with a hammer hanging off it.

3. Our minds are stimulated

Not so good on the tools? Don’t worry about it! If you can hold a conversation about a topic that your fair lady is interested in, you’re in. Remember in my other list where I said ‘you don’t pay attention to our minds needs’? Well, here’s your opportunity.

4. We’re in love

Now this can be confusing, because shouldn’t we all be in love with our significant other? Of course the answer is yes but sometimes life makes it hard to be in love. Even with the man we love. There are times though, that even if the sparkle has dulled, that we remember the man we fell in love with. Maybe we’ve just enjoyed a rare date night. Or maybe we’ve watched our favourite movie again together. Or maybe he just looked at us the way he used to before life. Massive turn-on.

5. We’re relaxed

The housework is done, the kids are away/asleep/watching tv, there’s nowhere we need to be and nothing we need to do except share some lovin’ with our man.

6. It’s that time of the month

No, not the other time. The good time. The time when all the hormones travel south and beckon our lover. It’s a small window, but it exists.

7. We’re feeling sexy

It could be something as simple as a new outfit, or a change of hairstyle or a couple of kilos lost/gained. Whatever the reason, when we are feeling good about ourselves physically we want to feel good physically… get what I mean? *Wink, wink.

8. We’re feeling grateful

We’ve just watched our man cook dinner, wash the dishes and put the kids to bed while we’ve done whatever it is we need to do [finish off some work, catch up on some emails, watch Offspring] and suddenly it’s like we’ve been bitten by the love bug.

9. We want to make up

What’s some of the greatest sex you’ll ever have? All together now ‘make-up sex!’ We’ve had a row that was heated enough to cause some shouting and general pissed-offedness but not bad enough to throw your shit out on the footpath. Meet you in the bedroom buddy.

10. We want to get pregnant

Fellas, listen up. This is the best time for you to get laid. No contraception. No holding back. Just knock me up baby!

11. We ARE pregnant

Seriously. All sorts of shit happens when you’re pregnant and some of that is horniness. Plus there’s an old wives tale [probably made up by husbands] that having sex can bring on labour. Let’s get it on to get this out!

12. We’re feeling loved

This is important. If a woman feels loved, and that’s different for all of us, then sex comes easily – so to speak. A thoughtful gift for no reason. A neck massage with no expectation. Freshly picked flowers from the garden with a cup of tea. Kindness is next to horniness.

13. We’ve just watched something really hot on tv

Or read something really hot in a book. Either way – you’re in.

14. We’re tipsy

WARNING – this does not AUTOMATICALLY mean we’re up for it BUT… chances are we’re tipsy because we’ve been out. If we’ve been out, we might have been wearing something new so now we’re feeling sexy. The kids are probably being babysat, for us to go out so we’re also relaxed. We are talking the perfect sex storm here.

15. It’s been a long time between drinks

Maybe we’ve been sick. Maybe he’s been sick. Maybe the whole family has been sick. Maybe one of us has been away for work. Maybe we’ve just had a baby and haven’t had let you near us for months. Whatever, a woman is not a camel [or something like that].

16. We’re dreaming

And by the time we realise that it’s NOT Brad Pitt [or insert suitable heart-throb here] who is tenderly waking us from our much needed slumber, we’re already into it. DISCLAIMER: this is NOT fool proof and there is a high probability that this scenario will not end well but it has been known to end happily on occasion

17. We love having sex

That’s all

18. We want something

This is a tried and tested negotiating tactic. The old “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine”

19. We want the exercise

Ok. I have to tell you that this was my husband’s contribution to the list. I stupidly told him that I was struggling to come up with 27 reasons and he suggested this. “But honey, imagine the calories you can burn”… clearly the romance is not dead here.

20. We want to say thanks
For the surprise trip away to a gorgeous B&B or something sparkly in a little blue box or even just all those flirty, loving texts we've been getting all day. Being spoilt and adored is incredibly arousing.

21.  We’re horny

Yes, that actually does happen for no other reason than – we want a bit.

PS: Initially I was going to write a follow up post to 27 Reasons Women Don't Want to Have Sex with 27 Reasons Men Don't Want to Have Sex but after extensive research and surveys couldn't come up with even one reason. True. Story.

Did I let that girl down?

Some time last Friday night I became middle-aged. One minute I was standing at the bar in my leopard print pants dancing to Blurred Lines like the 30 year old I think I am and the next minute I was a 42 year old mum.

I know exactly when it happened too. It wasn’t when I had to come inside because it was freezing in the courtyard and despite my sensible outfits layers, I needed to stand in front of the open fire. It wasn’t when I realized that all the guys that caught my eye [in a harmless, non-cheating kind of way] were beardless, looked a bit tired and all had grey hair. It wasn’t even when I ordered a gin and tonic because I understood that if I had another glass of pinot gris, I would feel queasy and not be able to sleep well and I knew I had to be up early in the morning. It was precisely at the moment that I watched a young woman gyrating between two equally young men in a very tight, very troubling kind of human sandwich.

I had been watching this girl [I know technically she’s a woman but I’m middle-aged now and that makes her a girl] randomly throughout the night. She was young. Maybe early to mid twenties. Blonde and fresh and confidently attractive. She was dancing around with a group, I couldn’t tell who exactly she was with but there were at least two other girls that I think she was with. She was having a lot of fun and I had been watching her with a mix of admiration and envy. Admiration at her ability to dance –vigorously – without spilling her drink and envy as I remembered that feeling of abandon that overcomes you when you’re young and out and feeling gorgeous. She was wearing a short playsuit with stiletto heels and a deep, plunging, ruffled neckline. She looked gorgeous. She was drinking but I couldn’t tell how drunk she was. I know this is all sounding weird and you’d be forgiven for wondering if I’m actually some sick kind of stalker but I’m going somewhere with this.

I watched her dancing up against one of the guys in a suit who did his best to keep up with her funk… and failed. Still he pulled her closer and as she spun around and backed up to him it was obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra as her top gaped and showed just a bit too much to the gathering onlookers from time to time. Still, her hands were in the air and she was smiling and singing and it looked like she was feeling fantastic. I stole kind glances at her in between having my own good time with a great group of chicks and then I noticed that another guy had started dancing with them and that she was now sandwiched between the two. And it was tight in there. The boys could’ve kissed each other when she squatted between them and shimmied her way back up. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was really happy to be there. With them. Like that. I watched on as another mate took photos or video on his phone of them dancing. I watched on as both the guys she was dancing with had their hands on her. Competing for space on her small torso. I watched on as her girlfriends clapped with encouragement and as she turned it up when they did. I watched on.

I can’t reconcile how it all made me feel and I am still confused. The young, empowered woman in me wanted to high-five her and say ‘You go girl! While you’re young and happy and without the burden of responsibility. Feel gorgeous. Be sexy. Flirt to heart’s content’. The middle-aged, protector in me wanted to march over, eye-ball the guys, erase the phone footage and tell her ‘You go girl! But remember that the minute you want to stop – I’m here, and I’ve got your back’

There was nothing wrong with her behavior and I sincerely HOPE this is not being misinterpreted as judgemental but it just made me feel so uncomfortable. Maybe she didn’t want to stop. Maybe she wasn’t drunk. Maybe it was playing out exactly how she wanted to. Maybe her own friends had her back. Maybe all those guys were her friends and this was just how they all partied together. Maybe. But maybe not.

I left not long after [it was already 11 o'clock!!!] so I don't know how the night ended for her. I hope it was exactly as she intended. And, regardless of what that may have been, that she still felt that way in the morning.

I remember being young and single and gorgeous and drunk. I remember dancing on packed dance floors. Hot and sweaty and sexy. Pushing myself up against guys and feeling their ‘appreciation’ at doing so. It’s a heady time and I loved it. Did I think I was doing anything wrong? No. Would I have appreciated some old bag keeping their watchful eye on me? Fuck no. Weirdo. So why can’t I shake the feeling that I somehow, just a little bit, let that girl down?

Who needs a pelvic floor anyway?

I was in town the other day to get my hair done. I go to the same hairdresser I’ve gone to for the past 20 years [I’m one of those brand loyal people] and it used to be really convenient because I worked in the CBD so I could just leave my car parked and head on down. Usually on a Friday night followed by Friday night drinks with gorgeous hair. Y’know, back in the day where I didn’t have to be anywhere else other than where I wanted to be. I used to book my hair appointments on Friday nights so that I looked gorgeous and used my time in the chair to text my friends to see where we would meet up and I would touch up my makeup in the mirror and start with a cheeky glass of wine while I was there. But not these days.

So I went to the city to get my roots done and got in a bit earlier to fit in some clothes shopping for my kids who actually don’t have anything to wear 'out'. And when I say 'they don’t have anything to wear' I mean it. Every pair of pants they own are about 7 centimetres too short and the pants of the eldest that are now long enough for the youngest no longer have knees so when they tried on their outfits for their Aunty’s 21^st I had what looked like two orphans standing before me.

I had 30 minutes to find something for them before my root job. I always wee before I go anywhere and today was no exception but I usually have to wee whenever I’m out too. Strangely, this occurred even before children. Which is why I know where all the good public toilets are in town. So I’m in Target with a pile of options for the brats and I’m feeling the pressure rising so head to the Target toilet [which is a good one] and it’s out of order. I start to sweat a little but I’m feeling pretty secure because the pressure isn’t too intense yet. So I wait in line and I buy the boys clothes and get my carpark ticket stamped for my discount and head into the mall because I have another errand to run in the 30 minute window I have. I think to myself as I’m focussing on keeping the wee tsunami at bay that I’ll just head straight to the loo at DJs [AWESOME public toilet] and all will be good.

I’m feeling confident, perhaps even cocky. Because you see, I NEVER did those pelvic floor exercises that I was constantly and sensibly encouraged to do. Nope. Not me. Do you know why?  Because when I tried they felt far too similar to having an orgasm. Of course I’m quite partial to orgasms so that in itself wasn’t a problem but I almost always remembered to do them when I was in company or public. Standing in line somewhere. Sitting in a waiting room. Talking to my brother. You get the picture. And I got stage fright. All that squeezing together. It just made me think of my vagina so much and all while I was trying to maintain eye contact or keep a straight face and not think about having an orgasm. [you're doing it right now aren't you?] And the result, after pushing two babies out and not doing my pelvic floor exercises is I no longer have one. Which is a problem when your bladder is full and you’re in public and you have to cough.

Now usually, I can head off a cough with a firm clear of the throat but not this time. No. Not this time. This time, in heavy Saturday morning mall foot traffic, a bit of spit went down the wrong hole. You know what I’m talking about right? And I am WRACKED with coughing. So now I’m coughing, sweating and LEAKING as I start to do that little ‘almost run’ while keeping my legs together that’s a cross between a skip and a shuffle and a convulsion. And I develop a severe case of Tourettes syndrome as I swear, profusely, at myself under my breath. “You couldn’t do the fucking exercises could you?? Who fucking cares if it feels like an orgasm?? You’re PISSING YOURSELF in Rundle Mall. Still feeling cocky???”

Thankfully, it turned out NOT to be the disaster it could have been because sadly, these days my knickers are big and my jeans are baggy so any leakage was disguised. Sitting on that toilet was quite the experience though. Part relief, part reverence. Tourettes was replaced with a sudden urge to say 12 Hail Marys. There may have even been a choir singing. It was seriously THAT GOOD.

I swore [differently this time] to never let that happen again. I wouldn’t again risk the chance of pissing my pants in public because I couldn’t make it to a toilet in time. I promised to myself that I wouldn’t be in that horribly vulnerable position again.

Next time, the boys can go out looking like orphans.

There's nothing wrong with an ordinary life

I loved this video when I saw it. And when I watched it again, I still thought it was good but I’m a little bit over the implication that we must all be doing something more with our lives. I'm over my newsfeed being flooded with non-inspirational quotes like:

What is wrong with living an ordinary life?

There is nothing extraordinary about my life. If I go by family history I’m almost exactly middle-aged. I’m married to a nice man with whom I have had two healthy children who share a bedroom and walk to school. We eat home almost every night. We live in a beautiful home which we owe a mortgage on so have very little spare cash to travel which means our holidays are almost always local. We own two average cars, quarrel with our extended family and have at least one piece of Ikea in every room of the house. We raise money for charity, we recycle, we grow our own veggies and we never have enough sleep. 

At least once a month I despair that I have nothing to wear and my husband threatens to give away the kids toys that they’ve left outside overnight. We rarely go to concerts or new restaurants but have friends over regularly. We aim for a couple of alcohol-free days a week and I choose to accept my body for what it is rather than hit the workout circuit. My boys exclaim ‘that’s not fair!’ about something totally fair almost every day and still struggle to aim into the toilet bowl without pissing on the floor. I wash my hair on Wednesdays and make spaghetti Bolognese at least once a week. I get unreasonably annoyed when the television channels randomly change the days and times of my favourite shows [currently Scandal and Grey’s Anatomy] and have put my hand up to be the class parent rep for the 4^th year in a row. My boys still hug and kiss me every day and if my husband is at work, he’ll call at least once to ‘check in’ on our day.

Seizing the day for me often means making a good, strong cup of coffee, changing the sheets on the beds and cooking up a few meals for the freezer. I’m not sure that’s very ‘carpe diem’ but that’s what an ordinary life is. And what is so wrong with that? The constant message to live a greater life is a crazy amount of pressure. If you’re not using your jellybeans wisely, you’re wasting your days. Wasting your days. What the fuck does that actually mean? And who’s going to measure the waste? Me?? I don’t really feel like I’m wasting anything. But then there’ll be another article about living an extraordinary life that makes me think – fuck, I’m doing this wrong. If I don’t have a desire for a greater life, am I just lazy? I should be doing things. Having adventures. Impacting the world. Leaving a legacy.

Wait... what? Isn’t that what I’m doing? 

Some days my sons do something so impressive that I feel I am part of an extraordinary journey. I teach them things. And they learn right before my eyes. Their brain fills up with things I tell them. We go to the zoo and I see it through their eyes and it’s a wonderful adventure. I get dragged through the nocturnal section which has never interested me and delight in seeing the baby bilby and my boys and I whisper so we don’t scare it and it’s so exciting. I tell them stories of their grandparents. Stories that are so foreign and removed from life today that they seem like fairytales. They ask for more and I realise I am my family’s memory and the tapestry of my family lives in me and that is extraordinary. I reach out to my gorgeous sons and hold them to me and I feel their heart, that I MADE, beat against my own chest. I made people. And now I’m growing people. And that is fucking extraordinary.  

Warring Women versus The Sisterhood

Image source: www.ketzali.com

We are one bitchy, judgemental lot aren’t we?

Every day I read social media updates about mummy wars and women criticising each other for choices made and clothes worn and parenting decisions and food choices. Blogs and articles are constantly being written by women imploring other women to stop judging each other. To give a sister a break. To stop being such bitches. Our own focus on women as crap people is relentless. The negativity that we are imposing on ourselves is endless. It feels like we are all beating the same self-deprecating drum in an effort to show how evolved we are.

And it is true that we are judgemental. Many of us measure our own performance and, sadly, self worth by how we see everyone else is performing or coping or falling apart. It’s not new. We’ve always done it only now, in the information era, everyone knows about it. We used to just bitch behind each other’s backs. Now we post status updates and share articles in a passive aggressive attempt at saying “I’m doing a better job than she is.”

So now that I’ve got that out of the way, let me remind you of something very important about us 'warring women'.

We are a sisterhood. And just like sisters, we are able to bitch and insult and fight and disagree until one of us loses our shit and then we’ve got each other’s back.

Yesterday, I saw three separate women unexpectedly and spontaneously burst in to tears. They all went from smiles to sobs in less than 60 seconds. Each time they were surrounded by women they knew. Each time they succumbed to their emotions because they felt they could. And each time the women in their vicinity moved in with a speed and purpose that only other women understand... because for all our bitchiness and comparisons, we get it. We are all struggling. When we see a sister crumple under her own pressure we are fundamentally compelled to support her. When we see another woman struggle to fight her demons we stand behind her, next to her and many times in front of her. I see women rally for each other all the time. I see it online even more than I see the apparent war of women.

My sisterhood is strong and incredibly valuable to me. It is rich and full of women who represent so many different walks of life. It is diverse in age, culture, politics, religion, sexuality and geography. 

It is my anchor. It is my constant. 

I was raised by a single mum who had an amazing sisterhood. It is in her battlefield that I learnt the lessons of womanhood. It is through her and her friends that I learnt to gather my own army. Watching my mum and her friends navigate life together is where my awe of women began. In fact, from my view point, watching them around the dining room table making cups of tea and smoking cigarettes as they swapped stories and ear-rings, it was almost magical. 

To this day, I find magic in my friendships. My sisters have single-handedly healed gaping holes in my heart. They have saved me a million times from a million different tragedies. They have stood by me through fist fights [real and metaphoric] and I have seen my joy reflected in their eyes and heart  time and time again. I have a friend that calls me crying often and by the end of the conversation, which is sometimes only 5 minutes long, she’s laughing. 

That’s magic. That’s powerful. THAT'S what women do.

And if you’re reading this and thinking to yourself “What are you talking about? I don’t have a sisterhood!” then you’re probably a man OR you haven’t met the right women yet. 

Do not despair, sister. Start close to home and gather your army and in the meantime stick around... 

I’ve always got room for more in mine x

The thing no-one told me about returning to work

When I found out I was pregnant with my first baby, I was two years into running my own business after resigning as the General Manager of a local telecommunications company. I had my own label and a fledgling menswear boutique that had not yet hit the income level required to pay for a full-time manager. At the time, I worked it 7 days a week to cover expenses and take a minimum wage home. 

I hadn’t planned on being a mum yet but I always knew the kind of mum I wanted to be. I wanted to be present. Invested. Full-time. I CHOSE to close the shop to allow myself to be that mum. I don’t see that as a sacrifice. I see that as a choice. My choice. Just as it was my choice to not return to paid work before both my kids were in school. I didn’t sacrifice my work to raise them. I didn’t sacrifice myself to raise them. I chose to become a mum. I chose to have children and I chose to parent them full-time. 

Was that easy? Fuck no. 

Was making the decision easy? Absolutely. 

Would I do it again? In a heart beat. IF I was going to have any more children. Which I’m not. DO YOU HEAR ME?? 

Anyway...

I was, voluntarily, out of the paid workforce for 8 years. 

Let me say that again, for impact. 8 YEARS. 

That’s nearly a decade of being driven by the needs of my children as a first priority. Yes, many times even before my own needs. ‘Cause, you know... I’m a mum right? It’s an incredibly demanding and taxing job which extends well past full-time but I gave it my everything.

My youngest starting school heralded the end of my full-time, stay-at-home mum role and the beginning of my part-time paid work role. Which should have been easy and perhaps even seamless in its transition. One would think.

What I didn’t know is that, actually, it’s a big shift in your thinking. That just dropping the kids off at school is not enough to trigger the highly efficient, super productive, over achieving paid work hormone that I had in spades previously. What I didn’t realise is that spending 8 years immersed in the minutia of motherhood can dull the professional senses a bit. That whilst I can juggle dinner, homework, grocery shopping, washing, cleaning and homemade biscuits all while organising the latest family get-together with the phone between ear and shoulder with the flick of the hair and a smile on my dial, getting your head in the business game takes a bit more deliberate thought. 

Being accountable to my husband and kids is NOTHING like being accountable to the ‘bottom line’ of a project budget. The deadlines of full-time motherhood have some room either side and if there is a day that I just can’t get my shit together, well everything will be ok. The house may look like it’s been ransacked, we might eat toast for dinner and the kids may be a bit stickier than usual when they go to bed sometime way past their bedtime but the next morning that day will be over and all will be alright. I forgot that to have a slow day when you’re working for someone often has quite serious repercussions.

When I worked full-time I was SWITCHED ON. Plugged in. Sharp. So much so that I even handled my personal relationships with the same business-like manner. In fact I still have an email from a corporate colleague comparing my 2 hour labour to my ‘usual efficiency’ performed at work. [HA! As if I had anything to do with that] I had mantras and routines and gym schedules and wool blend suits and the blessed Friday night drinks. I prided myself on my professional reputation and identified myself through my work. And then for 8 years I didn’t.  

And now that I’m back in the paid-work saddle, I’m working over-time to function part-time.

Did you have a big break from paid work? Have you experienced even some of what I’m talking about?

Please say 'yes'.

Easy ways to look fantastic

"Wow! You look fantastic!"

Everyone loves to hear that. Everyone loves to feel that they look fantastic. And looking fantastic is different for everyone. For some it is looking fit. For some it is looking healthy. For some it is looking well-dressed. For some it is looking happy. For some it is looking fatter than usual. For some it is looking slimmer than usual. For some it is as simple as not looking tired.

For me, it’s a combination of things. Looking good has always been important to me, but over the years, my definition of looking good has changed quite a bit.

Now that I’m a mum in my 40s, I don’t have the time, energy or money to dedicate to being gorgeous. So I’ve developed a loose regime of tips, tricks and products to make the best of what I’ve got in a time-poor, cash-poor lifestyle. I play to my strengths, don’t sweat the small stuff and always remember that attitude is everything.

I love my shoulder

I was out with my chicks a couple of weeks ago and one of them commented that I always have my shoulder out at parties. It’s true. I love my shoulder. I like to show it off. One of the all-time, greatest pieces of advice any stylist will ever give you is ‘dress to your strengths’. For me, my strength is my shoulder. Either one, it doesn't matter. I don’t like my legs. They’re dimply and one of them has a varicose vein the size of a rope running along the length of it thanks to my second pregnancy so I’m not keen to get the pins out. My arse is tired and my tummy has more hang than pot these days so I wear tights pants and long, loose, off-the-shoulder tops. My particular favourite is a batwing. Peplums can go fuck themselves unless you’re really slim and 25 years old. Which, clearly, I am neither.

Pre Beyonce Blonde

Exercise: What part of your body do you love?  Do your clothes show it off, or hide it?

I’ve got good boobs

If I’m not rockin’ my shoulder, then I’ve got the girls out. Gravity has taken its toll on my boobs, but a good push-up bra creates magic. Magical cleavage. I head to David Jones once a year to be measured properly for a well-fitted and flattering bra.

Exercise: When was the last time you were measured for a bra?

Hands

Hands are always on show and, having European heritage, I use mine to talk so I keep them looking good. I keep my nails short so that when I have time to paint them, they don’t chip too easily. One of my pet-hates is chipped nail polish. That goes for toes too. My other pet-hate is different nail lengths on the same hand. You know, when someone has 3 long nails and 2 short ones. Those broken nails aren’t going to catch up lady! Cut them all the same length and start again.

Exercise: Is your nail polish chipped? Are your nails the same length?

Embrace the mid-heel

I walk like a bloke. It’s true. I do. So sky-high stilettos and platforms don’t really feature in my wardrobe. I bought the sexiest, most delicious gold pumps for my 40^th birthday party but I’ve never worn them since. Sometimes you just have to make peace with what you know and what I know is the mid-heel is my friend.

Exercise: Be honest – can you walk in heels? If you can, I’m EXTREMELY jealous because they look sensational, but if you have not yet tried the mid-heel... I urge you to.

Lips

Often times, when you talk, people look at your mouth. So I wear lip balm to bed every night to keep my lips from drying or cracking. I also hate too much colour on my lips. Oh and I’ve tried because I love colour on OTHER people’s lip, especially red lipstick but it looks horrendous on me. I don’t bother anymore. Instead I buy variations of the same colour time and time again. Don’t believe me? Check out some of my current collection...

Exercise: Do you have a favourite lip colour? When was the last time you bought yourself a new lipstick/gloss?

Addicted to Accessories

I’m an accessory addict. I love necklaces and handbags and scarves and big earrings and bangle arm parties. I like to jingle. It’s the gypsy in me. A pair of hoop of earrings can make an outfit. Honestly.

Exercise: Do you like to accessorise? Be brave and start with a bangle or two, maybe even a statement earring. It’s fun and a really cheap way to lift an outfit.

Hair

I am INCREDIBLY grey. True.Story. I’ve been dying my hair for 21 years. In the lead up to turning 40 I had a ‘hair plan’. I would go Beyonce blonde for 10 years to help with my maintenance. Grey hairs aren’t so noticeable when your hair is lighter and when I turn 50 I’ll go short and grey. There. I’ve put in writing. If I’m still blogging in 9 years you can hold me to it. In the meantime, I’m at the hairdresser every 6 weeks getting my roots done. But I really should be going every 4 weeks. To extend the time in between, I have a secret weapon. If you have grey issues, you must purchase one of these. $10 from Priceline.

The miracle stick

BEFORE

The RIGHT SIDE [as you're looking at it] done - see the difference?

Exercise: If you struggle with keeping up with the grey hair regime, then get one of these sticks.

Make up with make-up

I was HOPELESS at applying make-up, so I took a course and now I’m really confident. I buy the right shades for me and know how to bring out my best features. Because I don’t wear it often, I invest in the good stuff and a tube of foundation can last up to a year for me.

Exercise: Is your foundation the right colour for you? Do you know how to apply your make-up properly? If not, why not book a session at a professional make-up counter [like MAC] and have them show you how to apply and then purchase the product they choose for you. You won’t regret it, I promise.

Smile

I spent a small fortune on braces in my 20s. It was the best money I ever spent. I don’t wear make-up every day. I don’t have the time or the energy and my hair is usually in the same twirled up bun I’ve put it in the moment I drag my tired arse out of the bed in the morning all day. So sometimes, all I’ve got for you to look at is glossed lips around a big smile. I reckon that’s what growing up is about. Realising that life is about feeling awesome, finding happiness is every day things and wearing your best smile.

Exercise: SMILE

So there you have it. If you see a jingling chick with tight pants and an off the shoulder bat-wing top in a mid-heel with glossy lips, short painted nails with a smile from ear to ear – be sure to say hi :)

What are YOUR cheap and cheerful look fantastic tips?