The Meaning Of Life Is....42

Apparently it is now 2013. All the fireworks and doof doof here in Boganville last night, kind of gave it away.  Meaning, there were slightly more fireworks than what we usually hear every night. Anyway, I should probably wish you a Happy New Year. So I will. 

Happy New Year! May 2013 see all your dreams come true and Gangnam Style finally dying a long overdue, painful death. My neighbours very helpfully decided to blast it at around two seconds past midnight. Yeah, the 500 gazillion, trillion times I heard it in 2012 weren't quite enough, thanks very much. 

Anyway, being January, it probably means I should take the Christmas tree down. Eventually. It also means I will be turning 42 in approximately 14 days. Supposedly this is the answer to the meaning of life. 42.  According to Douglas Adams anyway.

It’s been a while since I read the Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy series (since high school in fact) , so I can’t quite remember the finer details.

All I remember is these two things coming up at some point in the series: the answer to the meaning of life is 42 and the phrase  Don’t Panic!  Both of which are relevant to me presently as I tend to be overly panicky and I will be 42 very soon.

Therefore, I expect I shall suddenly possess the wisdom of the ages. Have it all sorted. Stop panicking? That would be good.

That, or I shall suddenly stomp off to Greece on a  holiday, a la Shirley Valentine, leaving my ungrateful family behind blinking. I remember watching that movie  a very long time ago and thinking that 42 sounded really old. Yet here I am. Really old.

The thing is, I couldn’t stomp off to  Greece even if I wanted too.  My children are not grown up. I have a four year old. I am destined to be mistaken for his Granny by the time he is at school. Sigh.

There is also another reason I couldn't stomp off to Greece. Or anywhere. It would scare the bejesus out of me.

Jetsar, fasten your seatbelts, here come some scary Bogans again. But,
I have tragically never been on flight by myself.

 

The truth is, I am (almost) 42 and have never even been on a flight by myself. I know, tragic, aren’t I?

I have also never:

·         Smoked a cigarette

·         Taken illegal drugs

·         Had a bikini wax

·          Or even a leg wax

·         Been so drunk I’ve thrown up or couldn’t remember it

·         Seen a dead person (unless my not quite cooked baby counts)

·         Had a career

·         Bought a car

·         Had a broken heart (unless losing my not quite cooked baby counts)

And I still can’t:

·         Make eye contact

·         Talk/communicate

·         Have a successful job interview due to the above two things

·         Sew a button on

·         Be organised

·         Make scones (well,I can,but they don’t rise

 

*   Make anything remotely edible, according to my boys anyway

·         Make a decision about the slightest thing, even what to have on a sandwich

·         Have a needle or blood test without freaking out

·         Ditto dentist appointments

·         Programme the dvd/vcr

·         Do anything whatsoever involving technology

·         Read a map

·         Reverse park (sorry, I’m letting down the sisterhood, admitting these last two. Admitting all of them really)

Anyway, we could be here for another 42 years. You get the idea.

I have been on a plane, just never by myself. Once with my parents and lots of times with Micky Blue Eyes. And then with Micky Blue Eyes and the boys. Which is ever so fun (insert sarcasm here).

So naturally we are doing so again and flying up to Queensland on January 8th. There I will spend my birthday. I expect it will just be another day and I'll feel exactly like I did the day before.

Completely clueless. Thoroughly inept and inadequate in every facet of life.

But at least I'll get to have cake.

And I’ll just have to keep remembering: Don’t panic!

What have you never done? What IS the meaning of life? Just kidding. But if you really have it figured out I’d be interested!