Modest Landmarks to Laugh at #wickedwednesday #F4TFriday

Modesty Ablaze Curtains 1988 — Modesty Ablaze Curtains – 1988

This week’s prompt of “Laughter” at Wicked Wednesday . . . and of “Landmarks” at Food For Thought Friday . . . just seem to fit so well together that I couldn’t resist re-posting my thoughts from a previous Wicked Wednesday post a few years ago.

I’ve always thought it’s important to be able to laugh at oneself from time-to-time, and I always try to not take things too seriously. And memories from many of those landmark moments often bring giggles and laughter.

So, recalling personal landmarks from my Modesty Ablaze timeline over the years:

From my Seventy-Teenies:
Rebelling from Catholic school tie and gymslips by day, to punk rocker by night down in deepest darkest Soho. I will never be old. Meet a boy with strange accent . . . a little older? Just a little. But . . . he works in the bar at the Marquee club in Wardour Street. Free tickets, free drinks at the bar! He likes me! The Clash, Siouxsie, The Damned, The Jam . . . wild times, wild nights. I’ll never grow old!

To my Eighty-Twenties:
I’ll never grow old. Leaving school. New job. Same boy, think he likes me. Summer holidays, island hopping Greek Islands. Different job. Same boy, think I like him. Flying to the bottom half of the world. I’ll never grow old! Returning home. Leaving home. Sinful living, same boy, we like each other. I’m never growing old, in fact I’m feeling younger.

And my Eighty-MidTwenties (almost):
Same boy. He loves me, I love him. White Wedding. Route 66, Everglades, Sunsets over Key West. I’ll never grow old! In fact, I’m feeling younger.

To my Ninety-Twenties:
New home. Same boy. Children. Love them. Suddenly . . . I’m getting older.

And my Two Thousand Thirties:
School run mornings. Back to work. Office affair. Oh God, what’s happening? I’m a wife, a mother, I should be being responsible, I’m not a youngster anymore. What to do? Must stop, can’t stop. Come clean to same boy. He says he knows already! He understands, he loves me. He thinks it’s fun. He doesn’t mind. I love him. I’m never growing old, in fact I’m feeling younger.

Oh suddenly it’s Two Thousand Forties:
Same boy. New job. New affair(s). Oh God. Can’t stop. Never growing old, in fact feeling younger.

And my Two Thousand Mid-Forties:
Same boy. Swinging fun, such fun. Three-somes, Four-somes, More-somes.
Oh God. Can’t stop. Never growing old, in fact feeling even younger.

To my Two Thousand Fifties:
Same boy. More fun, such fun. FemDom, Mistressing, Crops & Canes. Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Too much fun to stop.
I can’t possibly be getting old, in fact I’m feeling younger, ever younger.

To the years flying by to Two Thousand Mid-Fifties:
Same boy. Lots more fun, new friends, more whips & strap-ons. Don’t want to stop. Hoping it won’t stop. Too much fun to stop. Years seem to pass ever quicker . . . but I’m still feeling younger, wanting younger!