… of the last four weeks in the order in which they occur to me
1. my mother-in-law – for decades unhappy, grey, lazy, too fat, and generally of the opinion that being a woman is “just shit” – once again recommends to me, in the course of an everyday conversation about whatever, that I should have my uterus removed. That would have worked wonders for her. “Come on, do it now!”
2. I get a new boss who is about five years older than me and suddenly feels too old. Also, the vague fear for my job stirs. Indeed this is complete nonsense! Or is it?
3. at 8.30 p.m. I find a 1.5 cm long bristly hair on my chin that wasn’t there at 6 p.m…
4. during precautionary palpation of my chest, I discover three long, dark hairs here too. For a change, I’m glad I’m not having sex now.
5 The changing rooms at COS are closed due to Corona. I go to the furthest corner of the shop and quickly try on a T-shirt. Meanwhile, a man of about 30 appears and, despite my warning signal, is suddenly confronted by me in my bra, and I can’t stop apologizing to him.
I develop unimagined aggression towards women (WOMEN! What’s wrong with you?!) who, in magazine articles and postings, refer to biscuits, cakes, and pasta as a sin, a minor sin, sin or anything else that must be “allowed”, that you “indulge in” or that you “go weak over”. I didn’t care before.
7 How old other people are suddenly becoming as important as when I was five.
8 Marie Kondo is so right: a tidy wardrobe is not only a joy but also incredibly practical. I give myself a break and finally sort out all the clothes that don’t fit and/or look good on me anymore. After that, I don’t need a wardrobe anymore. So I put everything away again.
9 The female version of a mid-life crisis does not manifest itself in me suddenly chasing after small interns, but in self-optimization. Although it’s only June, I’ve already made three different life-changing dietary and lifestyle changes this year. Currently, I don’t drink alcohol. Yet I wake up every morning with a hangover. The iPhone beeps at 6:30 am and for a few seconds, I could swear I had just stumbled out of a club.
10. I look at old photos. One of them shows my grandma: a woman with a perm and a “house dress”, in the background, a cyclamen and a Heino LP can be glimpsed on the sideboard. She is holding me in her arms like a baby. Suddenly I start calculating and realize that I am precisely the same age as my grandmother in the photo. After that, I somehow don’t feel like taking any more pictures.