My entire ‘20s was spent posting updates about random sex, boyfriends, breakups, dieting and the odd newsworthy post that grabbed my attention. Often I decided to throw in my ten pence piece for all it was worth. Usually not much.
I had fun writing about the man I travelled 30 miles up the M1 to have spontaneous sex with in a hotel and then drive the 30 miles back to gossip to you all about it. Then there was the casual sex with that guy after I booty called him at 2am and he picked me up from a nightclub. He’s now my husband (proof that it can work out). Oh, and do you remember that time I was asked to climb out of a ‘one night stands’ window so his parents wouldn’t see me leave in my (admittedly hooker like) black dress and red high heels. They all make me smile because, well, it’s funny looking back at my life with such little responsibility.
I also spoke rather bluntly about friendships, (some would call it bitching but who am I to call the shots on my own opinions hey) how I don’t like ex-girlfriends of guys I date, (who does) and my absolute utter distaste of girls who blow the dog whistle. If you’re not familiar with that piece then I’d highly recommend you read it. It’s my self-given Oscar.
Sex, orgasms, men, friendships, yoyo dieting, bitching, shoving my nose in where it didn’t really belong – you name it. I had written more mature and grown up pieces too; I wasn’t all open legs, binge drinking, chocolate shovelling and being a Betsy bitch face. Heartache, dangerous dating and confidence posts are in there too. Don’t discount me entirely on the premise that I was probably a sex addict. I wasn’t I’d like to add. I was just single and mingling with men I should and shouldn’t have been. You can read all about it. In fact I suggest you do.
What’s changed you ask? Well my dear readers, friends and old flames who read this and pretend you don’t…
I hit my ‘30s didn’t I. Somehow my little black dress no longer fits, I lost my red shoes and in place I married a booty call, popped out a baby and got a bit fat. Sounds riveting. To be honest I have a fair amount of unbelievable accounts that will make you hot under the collar so do keep me in your pocket, won’t you?
It’s funny because I only got married so I wouldn’t have to have sex with my boyfriend anymore. Turns out that some marriages actually do work when you take your over-sized knickers off and make an effort on a Monday night. There goes the old wives tale that sex ends when you put a ring on it.
Through having sex just before we got married, even when I kept my bra on, we managed to conceive a beautiful little baby who popped out looking just like her dad, which was quite scary but also reassuring because I was so tired after 15 hours of labour I just wasn’t up for a discussion about why she’s blonde and he isn’t.
It’s a real learning curve when you bring a new person into the world. We’ve been shat on multiple times and it’s a lesson that doesn’t seem to sink in that fast for some odd reason. That’s another story and one of us have been left half naked covered in baby shit at 9pm in a curry house restaurant. You’ll like this one I promise.
I moved out for the first time officially (well, second time as the first time was when I went to work in Butlins, called my mum everyday and lasted 2 months) with a man into a big house with a big garden and bought a big car. I survived quite well and finally learnt how to use an oven, discover more cycles than just the “quick wash” on the washing machine and why my mum always told me to “rinse” the plates and not just put them in the sink, as well as why I needed to put rubbish “in” the bin and not “on” the bin.
As much as I’m a more mature version of my younger self when it comes to responsibilities, the Bella that is within and drank coffee everyday to stay thin is still very much present. She just eats chips and drinks copious amounts of wine to survive being over 30.
I’m guessing you’ll want to know what I have to say for myself as generically “mummy” posts are boring and “marriage” talk is a little dire and that’s all you think I’ve got for you isn’t it – admit it. Boring Bella. You couldn’t be further from the truth my friends/admirers who pretend not to follow me.
Journey through my ‘30s with me. You might want to wash your hands when you’re finished though…
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