Fuck (Looks like a Lady).

I had an epiphany this month. And I didn’t even have to google how to spell epiphany, which is how I know this shit is for real. And the epiphany wasn’t that I could spell either. It was something much more serious .

It could have been because my 38th Birthday is approaching, or it could be just because. But it happened. Actually, maybe it was because of the broken hot water system or the rats in my roof, but maybe just because.

When weird shit happens to me I always think that I bring it on myself, that I court disaster and drama follows me everywhere I go. I’ve even had one of my clients say she would love to watch a reality show on me, because my life is just that fucking amusing.  But now I’ve realised. It’s a mother fucking gift. I’ve smiled some really big smiles (that would otherwise have departed my face) thanks to writing down these wicked little hurdles I experience. And I know full well that I am not saving anyone’s life. Maybe just my own.

See, this month I discovered that life will not wait for me. I’m no longer that cute 22 year old with the world at her feet who has years to work out what she will be “when she grows up”. It’s happened. I am grown up (sort of) and life is well underway. The weeks blur into months and the months blur into years. And this October I am going to be celebrating 20 years since I left High School. Oh boy. I’m no spring chicken anymore.

Here I go with the drama again, writing my life off like I’ve got but a few weeks left to live. Far from it. I have given myself an invitation to give ZERO FUCKS. Yes, that’s a silly phrase being banded around at the moment by many, but it’s so supremely accurate that I am jumping on that mother fucking bandwagon. Can you imagine the party happening on that bandwagon? Yeah. I want in.

This doesn’t mean I don’t care, far from it. I care a LOT.  About a lot of things. But more about ME than I ever have before.  I just refuse to care about trivial shit anymore. Like having bad hair, boring clothes, toeing the line, saying the right thing, trying not to offend anyone, smiling at just the right moment….you catching my drift?

Yesterday I dropped my kids off at daycare looking like a burglar mixed with a wildling from Game of Thrones mixed with a contortionist from  Cirque du Soleil. It was a loud mix of fluoro, patterned leggings, huge knitted cardi, black knee high ugg boots and a caramel beanie. It was a bit of a random grab in the wardrobe and a tad on the “Derelicte” side, but I felt awesome.  Beautiful even. And do you know what the ultra conservative manager of the daycare said to me when I walked out? “You look so powerful and happy today.” Most people would have said I looked crazy.

So that’s it. I’m owning it. I’m too old to care about shit I don’t need to care about and too young to care about shit I don’t need to care about. I declare war on giving fucks and I’m also out to prove that you can say fuck a lot and still be a lady.

A few people have said to me that they are confused with the visual of Far Kew and what Far Kew “sounds” like. What did you imagine?  More rough? More tough? Well guess what. Fuck looks like a lady, some of the time.

If I want to wear a dress I’ll wear a dress. But I’ll also be a rock star if the moment suits me. If I want to be a feminist and still enjoy a door being opened for me I’ll do so. If I want to be a swinging voter I’ll own that too. If I want to order takeaway because I can’t be fucking bothered cooking, then I’ll do it guilt free. If I want to say fuck a lot, I’ll continue saying fuck a lot. It’s a stress reliever. If I want to risk looking like a fool because of something I believe in, even if I change my mind the next day, then I will go ahead and DO IT. Because life is too short to give fucks. Of any kind.

We spend so much of our lives trying to please other people, when really we should realise that it’s all about US. And if you can’t be happy with YOU, then you’re doing it wrong.

Grab life by the balls. Then imagine what it would actually look like to grab life by the balls (or the chicken skin handbag if you’re so inclined) and have a huge laugh at that weird visual. And then get back to grabbing life by the balls. Give yourself permission today, because nobody else cares.

But you should.



Leave a Reply to Far Koff Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.