Life : Drawing The Line
Still, regardless of how the line was drawn, it was drawn and I have never once crossed it – not even that time I *thought* I was pregnant but had actually only accidentally eaten an entire family block of Cadbury’s Black Forest chocolate.
We all know that drawing a line is important. It’s about taking a stance, stepping up and saying NO MORE (usually with one or two provisos attached, such as ‘I WILL NOT eat any more Cadbury’s Black Forest Chocolate… unless of course there’s some in the cupboard/at the supermarket/in the world).
As important as it is, I should confess that drawing the line is one of those jobs I like to avoid, like taking out the recycling or changing the toilet paper roll.
I mean, don’t get me wrong: there are some things which make me keen to draw a line. Very keen indeed. For example: the number of singing-based reality shows on TV at any given moment (my baseline = 0) and the number of Kardashian sisters mentioned in any single magazine (the fact that I can spell Kardashian is a clear indication that that particular line, if drawn, has sadly been crossed).
Also, I should stress here that flute solos belong on the OTHER side of the line from modern music and those tampons wrapped in brightly coloured plastic should be outlawed. I mean, who are these people fooling? We all KNOW they are tampons and in any case, they’re all still disappointingly white on the inside. Collars and cuffs, people. COLLARS AND CUFFS.
With other things, I am not keen to draw a line. Not keen at all. For example, the number of black hairs I need to have growing out of my chin before it can officially be classified as a beard. Unless I need to pick up an extra income stream freelancing as a bearded lady, I’m happy for that line to go undrawn as long as possible.
Also, if you were planning to draw a radius around my home defining the area within which I was allowed to wear my Ugg boots, I’d be encouraging you to draw that line as far from my front door as possible. Why, those things are like wearing little hugs on my feet! Or should I say “Huggs”? Ha-ha ha-ha ha-ha… *ahem*.
Then there are those things I’m not sure about. Not one bit. These things include:
- Jokes like “Huggs”
- Sparkling red wine
- Sportswear in any situation, even while playing sport
- Grown women wearing their hair in plaits or piggy-tails
- Men with nicer fingernails than me
- Denim that is not denim but is something else made to look like denim worn by someone who would never be seen dead in denim
- Sailor suits on non-naval personnel, including small children and small dogs. Oh, and also small dogs who *are* naval personnel but who have been made into sailor suits
- Jokes at small dogs’ expense
- Online articles that end up being lists of random weird shit
[Article ends here because the editor has drawn the line]
The formerly fashionable NDM had three children and discovered that brown is the new black the hard way. The force behind the once-was-blog Not Drowning, Mothering, she now very occasionally writes for the sometimes-blog The NDM. In her spare time, she enjoys baking cakes, cyber-hassling advertising executives and collecting photos of unusual objects made out of paperclips.