A Real Holiday Story
It’s 2015 and the most coveted Christmas gift is the hoverboard, men still favour the Brazilian over the bush and I have absolutely no idea what my life purpose is aside from this year’s main achievements which include: writing a vibrator manual and having my face on the back of a kegel exerciser box.
My lowest point this festive season happened at approximately 5pm on Christmas Eve. I was carrying a mountain of empty stock boxes to the bin after being stuffed in a storage room unpacking knickers for six hours. I was stressed, sick and hadn’t washed my hair in a week.
And then I saw her, a girl I went to school with. Pushing a trolley full of gifts, she was glowing as if she’d stepped off Noosa Main Beach and just had to rush out get a few things. Her long blonde locks fell down around her huge fake tits and she was sipping her skim iced latte out of a pink straw as to not stain her perfect white teeth.
Usually I would be worried about anyone seeing me, but at this point my skin was so pale from my office job that I almost blended into the Apple store shop fit.
And so as I watched her float past I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could even appear to have their shit together this time of year?
December or as I like to call it ‘the month where all of my problems boil to the surface and I find myself wondering why I moved to the world’s most expensive city instead of pursuing a career in crotchet bikini making’.
On Boxing Day came a massive wave of alcohol induced relief. I met my best friend at Locale in Hastings Street for a Christmas drink.
She too had decided to move away from Noosa to pursue her career but had recently moved back after a tough stint as a nurse on Palm Island.
Here she is telling me stories about abortions and attempted suicides and I am complaining about unpacking a few knickers.
“Can you believe it’s been 5 years since we graduated?” I said sipping my martini.
“I know, it feels like yesterday that we were sneaking into resort pools” she said instantly bringing back memories of pool hopping along the Hastings Street strip.
It then dawned on me that we’d become those old people that say “It feels like yesterday” when in reality we’d already lived half a decade since our graduation day.
“I found a grey hair during my trip to LA and another last night” I admitted taking a big sip of my drink.
“I’ve got plenty” She said running her fingers through her long dark hair.
It’s not fair, no one tells you that your hair starts dying in your early twenties…I guess It’s all down hill from here.
We then did the regular debrief of everyone we knew of that had gotten pregnant, engaged or had travelled to Bali to get fake boobies since our last Christmas drink. Unlike someone in their late twenties, discussing these things still had its novelty but the reality that one day it could be us was ever looming.
“What are your plans for 2016?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I said truthfully.
It was the first time since graduating that I felt my like my path was a little hazy. After high school the natural progression is to go to university and go travelling. But what are you meant to do after you’ve finished your degree and done the travel thing?
I think the answer is to start adulting.
You’d think with half of my wisdom teeth and two grey hairs under my belt that I’d have some idea of how I was going to kick off 2016. In all honesty I don’t have a clue what the next year holds.
But give me some cheese, a bottle of wine, men, friends, Mr P.S and the city and you can bet your bottom dollar that I can write you a damn good story.
Now raise your champagne flute and repeat after me…
“It doesn’t matter that we’re young and simultaneously greying, as long as we continue to love, thrive and have protected sex (do you really want to end up on the pregnant list?) then 2016 will bring an abundance of opportunity (and handsome men who don’t shave their chests).”
Cheers gorgeous and thank you being apart of this journey with me.
Happy New Year!
Lot’s of love,
Miss P x