"The great thing about being 40" my aunt comforted me on the birthday in question "is that from now on you needn't (or won't - it's some time ago) care what other people think"
Sadly,even now it's not yet true.
My kitchen-builder is coming round to be paid tomorrow - and I am worried that he will make a sarky comment that I haven't yet filled the cupboard with the plates glasses cup saucepans casseroles which have been "stored" for a week on any availabel surface in the open plan living room.
Why does it matter what the bastard thinks? No, it was his plumber that was the lazy bully - the boss is quite pleasant, and the final problem about the need for a new £300 electric cable to the cooked isn't his fault. Nevertheless, I'm paying him in full, and I doubt if I'll ever seem him again.
Besides he's way under 40.
So why do I care?
In fact, as I type, another residual adolescent trait in my character is coming into play - my truculent, rebellious streak. I can't be arsed to move all the plates and stuff. They can stay on that table for years for all I care. F+ck the builder, f+ck you, f+ck the lot of them....
Unless my mother ever manages to pay a visit.
