Category Archives: Dirty Thirties

The problem with relying on good looks

When you are young, slender and beautiful, the world is your playground. A sparkling smile, a flip of the hair and a batting of the eyelashes accomplishes far more than the average person would suspect.

It’s a catch situation:  you know you’re gorgeous; and because you know it, you ooze confidence and charisma; and because you ooze all this charm, people notice you wherever you go; and because people pay attention to you all the time, you know you’re gorgeous.

Whether anyone will willingly admit it or not, if you’re beautiful, things seem to come easier. It therefore becomes quite natural to rely on your good looks to get your way.  Unfortunately, that’s where the real danger lies! Forget the other jealous and insecure women who are not at all enchanted by your youth and beauty, it’s when your good looks start to wane with age that the real challenge is afoot.

Speaking from experience, I relied heavily on my good looks in my twenties.  Tall, pretty face, slender body – I got used to the attention I attracted simply by being attractive.  No wonder I went into crisis mode when I hit thirty!

The ageing process isn’t for sissies

For the vain woman (and yes, I hang my head in shame), it feels like a death sentence. Your attention is taken away by younger, prettier girls and alas, you find yourself in the shoes of the older, jealous woman that you pitied in your earlier years.

beautyTo quote Liz Smith, “One of the best parts of growing older?  You can flirt all you like since you’ve become harmless”.  It’s an appropriate quote, especially to me.  Flirting in my younger years was my weapon of choice; now, flirting is not really something that I can get away with in too many situations. If I’ve learnt anything it’s that physical beauty is not permanent and it’s not ageless.  Relying on good looks alone will only get you so far and no further.

Yes, I do still nostalgically dwell on my twenties at times, but with age has thankfully come a little more wisdom.  It’s far better to be revered for your inner beauty, intelligence and strength of character, than simply as a pretty face that can be easily forgotten.

True beauty is timeless and that is something that can only come from within.


Filling in the hourglass – the bust movement

What am I going to do with these puppies? No, I’m not talking about my pets – I’m talking about my breasts. I swear they’ve grown in size … again! Just last year, after reading an interesting article relating to the fact that the majority of women wear the wrong bra size, I decided to have my bust measurements taken. I was literally gob-smacked: I was no longer a modest size 36 B, but rather an intimidating size 36 D. I was convinced the spaced-out shop attendant had gotten it all wrong. So I marched off to a lingerie boutique to have my measurements taken again. This time, when she told me I was a 36 D, I had to face the truth: I’ve hit the thirties buffet.

It’s my own personal term for when a woman has completely lost that girly body in preparation for babies. Whether a woman wants to have a child or not, we cannot flip Mother Nature the bird. With or without our consent, our bodies will become more curvaceous in celebration of that fantastic phenomenon called “fertility”.

I can lament forever on the fact that I was a lanky size eight in my early to mid twenties, but alas, those days are a distant, rather pleasant, memory. In my frank opinion – and trust me, I have lots of opinions – the stereotypical woman has several milestones in body shape changes. The first significant change is at the age of 25 when the child bearing hips first make their debut. The second significant change comes at the age of thirty. Let’s not even go near the topic of cellulite, stretch marks and the rest of the goodie bag that comes with this landmark!

Now, as I’m sitting at the mid-thirty mark, my dimensions have taken on more of an hourglass formation, and my breasts have joined the party and upped the stakes. After last year’s growth spurge, I think the girls are planning a coup. This morning, while dressing for work, my husband lay in bed transfixed by them. “Wow, they’re massive” he exclaimed as I shouldered my boulders and coaxed them into a bra.

“Please, oh please”, I’m silently praying, “Let them not be a double-D”. Surely I need something to look forward to as I hurtle towards the next marker: the big scary 40?

Dirty thirties: women’s sexual revolution?

There must be something wrong with me! What other conclusion can I draw? I was sitting at a busy intersection on my way to work when a Suzuki bike pulled up alongside my car. I’ve grown up around motorcycles – in fact, I was riding on one before I ever drove in a car! My dad was a BMW motorbike enthusiast who spend every waking moment of his spare time re-building, tinkering and tweaking bikes. So the fact that I can’t tell you what model of Suzuki bike this was, only that the tank was a metallic midnight blue, should prove that my attention was elsewhere directed to the rider’s yummy butt in tight blue jeans.

Besides drooling over the butts of random bikers, I’ve found myself more and more enamoured with the form of the male species. Not that I wasn’t before of course, but lately I feel like a horny teenager who doesn’t quite know how to handle her raging hormones.

Just the other night my husband and I were watching some army documentary on TV. The story follows a group of UK infantry recruits as they embark on a rigorous 12-week training programme in preparation for deployment in Afghanistan. Let me clarify: this is a group of scrawny, lily-white youngsters, most of whom look too young to even be shaving! As their combat training advances, these young guys really start to buff-up. Eventually, over my “oohs” and “aahs” at the growing six-packs and bicep muscles, my husband paused the programme playback to give me a rather stern look in silent warning to keep my opinions to myself.

There’s something to be said about a woman in her thirties (they don’t call it the dirty or naughty thirties without reason). I’m at the age where I’m no longer shy to talk about sex. I’ve made peace with my size 12 figure, and I know exactly what I want and need in the bedroom. I like sex, and right now my libido is at an all time high. My poor husband even has to hide his private bits and bobs in case my sex drive kicks into overdrive and I ambush him in the bathroom.

I honestly thought that a man would be overjoyed at the prospect of his wife wanting sex 24/7, but, as I’m politely told, that’s not always the case. So, while I allow myself to dream of steamy and x-rated encounters, I’m considering the option of a really good vibrator ;)

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