* This wise and personal missive to her younger self is another triumph penned by the wonderful and sensibly shod Violet Bushtrimmer.
As I approach my dotage there are many things I miss about being young: not being obsessed where the nearest toilet is, being able to cut my toenails without having an air-ambulance on standby, looking forward to a night out and not competing with Alan Sugar in the beard department.
But middle age brings with it, a special contentment and amazing hindsight. And when I look back to my formative years, just before I descended into teenage chaos, I think of all the hours that I spent reading Jackie, My Guy and other magazines whose advice I treated as absolute gospel. All they taught me was that boys are gods to be put on the highest pedestal and you must look your best at all times because, well boys.
So, if I could please ask our new Doctor a small favour, I would ask her to crank up the TARDIS and sneak this into a copy of Jackie for the ten year old me to read, devour and use as my new commandments.
THE ROAD TO WOMANHOOD
Hey Violet Bushtrimmer, aged 10 and ¾ – this one is for you. Yes YOU. You with the dodgy haircut and a penchant for corduroy slacks.
I have written this from the future to stop you wasting your youth on nonsense and to go out and grab the world by the pussy (this is a top joke that you will only get when you’re in your forties) . Anyone not called Violet Bushtrimmer – this does not apply to you. Or it might. Have a read and, if at some time in the future, when you’re sticking plasters on to your shredded feet while sobbing, you may get spooked and wonder if in fact you ARE Violet Bushtrimmer.
Shoes were invented to protect our feet from stones, inclement weather and general yuk that may cover the pavements on a Sunday morning outside the local fish and chip shop. In other words, to make us more comfortable. So if you decide to leave your house with something on the end of your legs that would give Philippe Petit vertigo, you’re doing shoes wrong. Don’t be the sort of person who does shoes wrong. And don’t you come all ‘but they make my legs look nice’ with me, young lady. Look nice for whom? Your friends don’t give a shit what your legs look like, you’re not viewing them, so if you’re going to cripple yourself on the off chance a complete stranger judges your calves, then have a word with yourself. Men invented high heels and then dropped them in favour of sensible brogues. It’s about time we handed back the heels and let the men totter around, while we strut our stuff on the dance floor. Pain free.
Never, ever pick your life partner based on looks. Google ‘Mickey Rourke – then and now’ and I think you’ll get my drift. Actually, you’re probably asking what is Google and who is Mickey Rourke? Just imagine if Donny Osmond fell into your mum’s twin tub while it was on boil setting and got a damn good bashing with her big wooden tongs. Got it now? Good. If they mess you around – dump them. You are better then that. Never forget you ARE the prize and they have just thrown away the winning ticket. Choose someone who will make you laugh, feel safe and loved. But most importantly, choose someone who can make a decent cuppa and doesn’t turn his pants inside out to save on washing.
Use your money to buy memories. Don’t waste it on buying overpriced shit because society has decided to tell you you’re ugly and need decorating. Don’t spend hundreds of pounds removing hair that will grow back or painting colours on the end of your fingers. Book a weekend away, buy tickets for the theatre, have a night down the pub – anything but waste your money doing things to your already perfect body because… anyone…?
Fragile, inferior men have taken the word ‘feminist’ and tried to distort and poison its actual meaning and goal. Now, as a paid up card carrying feminist, I obviously want to kill all men, dig them up then kill them again by strangling them with a rope made out of my armpit hair, but I have checked the law and only part of that is currently legal.
But what I would like to say to you, young beautiful woman, is never, ever shit on your fellow sisters. You don’t have to like or agree with every other female on the planet, but don’t go pulling them down either. Women’s looks, weight, clothes and sex life are not open season for you or anyone else (despite what Rupert wankface Murdoch may think), so *serious face* let’s stop doing it AND buying the publications that encourage it.
Oh and stop crawling to the meninists on Twitter (another thing you will ‘get’ in the future) – you just look desperate and they are all shrivel dicked losers who don’t deserve your time. Walk away from the dark side and feel the light again.
You know those two people who you’ve just started finding deeply annoying? Go and give them a cuddle and tell them you love them. Trust me, you’ll thank me big time for this one day.
I know a lot of this won’t mean much to you at the moment Violet. You still get your feet measured at Clarks, find the idea of snogging as appealing as sprouts and spend all your pocket money on comics and sweets. But keep these words close to your heart and for the love of all that’s holy NEVER stop getting your feet measured at Clarks. Walking tall is so much easier in well fitting flats.
Have a wonderful life.
All my love,