Pub

Pub

Saskia Noort

These days our lives are consumed by the thought that something is wrong with us. There is always something to worry about and I’m not even talking about the incessant wave of refugees or the threat of another terrorist attack. No, this is about everyday stuff that you knew nothing about, years ago. Or even worse, stuff you thought nothing was wrong with up till now. Like for instance, fruit-shakes. I made those for years in that bloody blender that occupies half of my counter and has to be cleaned daily using hot water, a special kind of soap and a soft brush. Every morning after downing beets, celery, ginger, pear and carrot I thought I had it covered. One part of my diet taken care of. Now it appears I have been consuming half a litre of Coke for breakfast. Not to mention the rest of my diet, that seems to exist of pure poison. So now I start my day fretting and moping over my bowl of quark yogurt with sugar-free granola, which is, let’s be honest, inedible. And then there are the wrong jeans you’re wearing, because they’re not flared, and your sweater is not normcore. Did that bother you before? Not a single moment. The fashion cycle lasted more than a year, brown bread and cheese was healthy, and you shaved your legs the day before you went on holiday.

Look at us now. Being you has become a time-consuming daily task and you wonder if your teeth aren’t too yellow. Can I still wear a sleeveless dress? Have I eaten more or less than 50 grams of meat? Could I be a sugar-addict? Are tomatoes healthy or not? Is this headache the start of a tumour, due to the two glasses of wine I’m having to lower my cholesterol and protect me from Alzheimer?

Life has become almost unbearable, now that all that’s wrong with it seems to be your own fault. Are you ill? You should have eaten more artichoke hearts. Depressed? That’s what happens when you never meditate or go running. Lonely? Maybe lose a little weight and get braces. Poor? Who is buying a house when the market is booming and gets a divorce after the crash? Ugly? Bollocks. Nobody has to be ugly anymore. A needle here, a little stich there, have some suction and you’re back on the market. As long as you’re willing to pay for it. Oh, and do stop eating tomatoes because they give you more pimples.

Self-confident, well that’s what we are. Busy maintaining our bodies and mind. Being well-informed, making nice selfies, and a six-pack to be proud of at your age. We like these sort of things. We are willing to suffer for them and nibble on a carrot. All to keep old age and diseases at bay. Because even being old is your own fault, like being sick. And the strange thing is that in order to remain young you have to live an old life. A life of fear that it may soon be over. A life filled with diets, inhibitions, limitations, check-ups, therapies, attachments, and filters. That’s why I really like to live like I used to. I may be a bit older physically, but I won’t have my life limited by some know-it- alls. I have a drink, eat my sausage, do a little dance, and fuck it: I’m also wearing a sleeveless dress. My body may be a temple; sometimes it’s a pub. And it’s a lot more fun in there.


Gepost op 2017-08-01

Door Saskia Noort


Ook van Saskia Noort

Return of the Real Tit

Saskia Noort wonders what happened to them: the crooked tits, the big tits, the small tits, hanging tits, outwardly pointing tits, pear-shaped tits, apple-shaped tits, and also banana-shaped tits. ‘I am in favour of the Return of the Real Tit. Flaunt them, your boobs, so often and so long and so much that no one makes a fuss about them any longer.’ Read Saskia’s monthly column for LINDA.Magazine here.


Young

When I was younger I always wanted to be older. I couldn’t wait to enter the grown-up world, have a job, a child, a marriage and to be taken seriously. I forgot to be young in all the hurry, and to enjoy the privilege given to me by Mother Nature: youth. Smooth skin, smooth buttocks, a belly without stretch marks and the strength to keep on dancing all night long without a total collapse the day after. Effortlessly getting over a broken heart and believing to know it all. The glorious carelessness and the prospect of a future full of promise.




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