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Tuesday 16 August 2011

SEXY GRANDMA



Recently it was reported on a TV news program (so I don’t keep repeating myself, let’s just clarify that this term is once and for all, an oxymoron) that an 83-year-old woman got fake breast implants. Her theory, her mother lived well into her nineties, so perhaps she will as well, and why not have an ample bosom while you get wheeled around the nursing home. Apparently she had an active dating life and wanted to look good when she hits the community room on a Saturday night.

Perhaps my attitude smacks of a hint of ageism, so for that forgive me, but saying that, it does beg the question, how old is too old for plastic surgery? Let’s break this down, shall we. On one hand, it’s her life, if she can weather a surgery and being put under and wants breasts like Pamela Anderson, who am I to stop her. This same news program asked people on the street, and most of the responses were positive and supportive of this octogenarian’s decision. And furthermore, according to statistics, plastic surgery amongst the older set is rising fast. One doctor even reported that he gets older couples coming in for matching face-lifts.

Now, me, by the time I’m 80 I’m thinking that putting fake breasts into my body will be kind of like putting boulders in a nylon stocking. I’ll leave you with that image for a second…..in addition, I hope that by the time I’m in my eighties I’m ready to surrender to my vanity not to mention gravity. In fact, I’ll be looking for a nice wooden bench and a slice of pie. I plan to eat a lot of pie in my eighties, even if I have to gum it down. Now, don’t get me wrong, I certainly do not plan to let myself go anymore than I have to; but as for inflating my breasts to the size of small pillows, the only reason I can see for doing that in my eighties is to fall asleep on them during Bingo.  

Sunday 14 August 2011

THE MUSEUM OF FAILED RELATIONSHIPS

I think this is simply too brilliant. There is a museum exhibition that has just opened here in London, Covent Garden to be exact, (it’s original home is in Croatia I believe) called the Museum of Broken Relationships. Aren’t you intrigued already?? Basically, people have donated a large variety of items be them cheap, sentimental, poignant etc., that have served as reminders from their broken, tired, & oh god what was I thinking relationships. In short, the exhibition serves as a therapeutic petri dish for all of one's crap – crap that is steeped in a variety of emotions - from those relationships that never worked out and you haven't gotten around to burning yet.

Each item donated has a caption beneath it documenting a bit of the couple’s story that went along with it. [It's all done anonymously of course, which means that you can really have some fun with the captions]. So underneath that cheap, flammable teddy bear holding a plastic daisy from the petrol station off the M4, one may read, “this is from the cheap bastard trying to make up for the fact that he blew me out on my birthday to play footie with his mates.” And under the wedding dress that is frayed and starting to turn yellow on the ends, it may read, “till death do us part, HA! How about till the dipshit did his secretary!” Okay, perhaps the captions are a bit more eloquent, but you understand the possibility for sheer fun to be had from this. Or at least I hope one does.

I’m sure some of you are thinking, how depressing to go see an exhibit about failed relationships; and yes, you may be right, but think of this exhibition's universal appeal. Just when you start thinking that you’re the only one who has had his/her heart broken, or you are the only one that can’t seem to find a man who can’t pick out a decent gift to save his life (seriously, it’s not that hard!!), you find yourself walking down aisle after aisle of likeminded love survivors who each have a story to tell. I can imagine for some, it would feel a lot better to know we've all been there, done that and gotten the box of heart shaped candy to prove it.

The most intriguing part - for me anyway, is that I bet you can almost hear the narrative of each and every couple as you peruse the detritus left behind; the honeymoon phases when the gifts were playful and cheeky – you know there several pairs of fuzzy handcuffs that were donated; the ‘please forgive me’ gifts for being a total moron – I’m thinking there are TONS of those; the ‘I wanted you to have my Grandmother’s such and such because you’re the one (until you weren’t the one of course); the small trinkets from the road trips and vacations that the couple ended up fighting through because being confined in that tiny hotel room was enough to drive them bonkers….and so on...

On a positive note, it might be funny to go with your partner/husband/loverboy and check out the exhibit and be thankful that you have survived the days of wading through the dating masses. And if you’re smart, you can also (furtively) dump that hideous gift that he bought you on your fifth date that's been sitting in the hall closet and you simply have no idea what to do with!


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