Tuesday evening seems to find me rather tired at the moment. I think this might be due to the fact I work Weds -Friday, but on Monday and Tuesday I’m full-time Mummy. And tonight, after two days of that, I’m so darned tired I can barely think straight.
This may in part be due to one of my small people, who I swear had Beelzebub in him today. There were (amongst other things) toilet issues. “Mummy – I need a pooh. Mummy it’s out of my bottom. Ooh look Mummy, it’s in my pajama leg!!”. This last bit was said with delight and enthusiasm, as if he’d just seen a rainbow, or a baby lamb or something to wonder at. I just could not move fast enough. And we won’t mention the mealtime where he tried to eat ketchup and scrambled egg with his hands. Or, indeed, what’s now known as “The Great Yoghurt Disaster of 2016”. Lets just say I will be finding deposits of it for years to come.
Anyway, now I’m finally flat on my back relaxing, I find my thoughts (unsurprisingly) turning to my retirement. It’s a strange one, as I am realising now I’d basically built my entire retirement plan around booze.
So. The Plan: Firstly, Mr Red and I would head for California, purchase a 1970’s Ford Mustang (or more realistically a campervan) and then gently bum around from vineyard to vineyard, and craft brewery to craft brewery, taking in the odd national park, sleeping under the stars, and probably running from bears. We’d eventually settle in a cabin by the sea, or a lake, with a big veranda and stereo, and drink wine in various sunset scenarios for the rest of our days.
However. The use of the word “plan” here is slightly misleading, as it indicates there’s been some sort of financial element to this. Sadly no, I’ve got as far as daydreaming, and then thinking “Shit I must sort out a pension. Oh balls, I’m 42, not 22, wtf happened???”. Also, Mr Red is younger than my good self, by nearly *$%*bleepitybleep years. Naturally, I won’t be inclined to sit in limbo waiting until he’s of an age; no, he’ll just have to bloody well retire when I do. So this plan was all going to require some cash, which is currently of the imaginary sort.
On reflecting this evening, I’m pleased to say that finally now I’ve stopped drinking, there’s a slim chance we’ll have the finances to fulfil this dream one day. (The Living Sober website counter tells me I’ve saved about £142.15p already. I’m expecting my cheque in the post shortly; that’s how it works, right??).
The trouble is, the dream will have to change, as the booze-soaked option, well it’s just not an option now.
My question is, what the hell will we do instead?? And the joy of it is, I’m really quite excited to find out.
Ps – any retirement plan suggestions most welcome! Please, no bingo.