Everyone said one of two things about turning 40:
1. It’s the end and all downhill from here
2. It’s the best and things get better
However the day I turned 40 I did the following:
Scraped up bit of desiccated bird from the floor — including feathers, organs and just other bits — nope, not me but the cat. Though he’s my cat, so I guess that’s technically me. I killed a bird.
Disposed of a dead fish — I say disposed like I gave it a burial, but I was trying to get rid before the children saw another one had queened (bites the dust) and therefore it was in the bin with cucumber. Don’t get me wrong, this was not something I thought it take with it to the next life, it was just fortunate/ unfortunate for the fish that he had company. He was a sunset balloon ram — I know you were curious.
Cake for breakfast — this needs no further explanation.
Stopped a rat scrap — I kid you not, it was like a toddler fight where they just wave their arms in the air a lot and squeak. Like FingerBobs on a bad acid trip.
Found out DS2 had nits from his childminder — cue picking him up early and delousing the whole house. I can’t begin to tell you how gross that is. Wriggly things in hair — so I did it not once, but twice. After we were all done I still couldn’t stop itching — there’s something about seeing wriggly winged things moving in hair, which automatically makes you want to scratch all over.
So really I have killed bird, fish and insect today, and being 40 has only just begun! I am clearly the harbinger of death — luckily the rats seem immune :D
Bring on 50!