Chances are if you were born in the 70’s, schooled in the eighties and getting out and about in the nineties, you would have danced along to the Violent Femmes, drunk on Bacardi Spritsers or Savanna’s, shouting at the top of your voice “Why can’t I get just one f***?”
My needs back then were simple. I needed petrol money for the 1975 hand me down beetle I used to zip around town in. I needed going out money to get into Late Night Al’s at Bruma or clothes money to get that got-to-have-will-die-without-it blouse from Smiley Blue to go with the every-boys-gonna-wanna-get-in-these-pants pants from the Oriental Plaza.
Back then I was easy to please. If you bought me a drink I was yours, if you bought me three I was anybody’s. All I needed was my perm (every 6-8 weeks), the morning after pill (after the morning after) and my therapy sessions (once a week).
Now as a mom to two children I find myself asking, needing, wanting, praying for the most simple of things.
A full night’s sleep. No, not even a full night. Just four or five uninterrupted hours will do me fine
My own bed. What bliss a bed to myself would be. A pillow I can call my own, a night without a tug of war over the blanket, no kicks to the kidneys or slaps to the spleen, no toe up my nostril or foot in my mouth
How I would love to eat a food item that hasn’t been sucked, chewed, swallowed, regurgitated and then forced into my mouth. Recycling is one thing, but this leaves me green
What it would be like to be BORED on a weekend. As a childless person ‘doing nothing’ meant doing nothing. Now ‘doing nothing’ means ‘I did nothing…you’d be interested in hearing about’
A plate of food that I don’t have to turn into a face, with a tomato smile, a carrot nose and cauliflower hair
A moment in the bathroom where I don’t have to explain what’s come out my bum, why my pee’s yellow, why I wipe my front bum and not my back bum, why I have hair ‘there’ or why my boobs are on my knees when I sit in the bath
A ‘sexy’ moment with my husband that isn’t interrupted by a wail for more milk, a cry for a clean nappy, a screech’ cos there’s “a bee in the room” or a lowly little plea for a hug
Yes, twenty years on and I’m still asking why I can’t get just one f***!