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That perming my hair, circa 1987, in order to look like my friend who had natural curls, would be a huge, split-end-making extravaganza of a mistake.
That being tall is good. You can see more.
That it's so worth reading the small print.
That it will pass - no matter how scary it seems right now.
That when friends and family move to other countries, I will still miss them every day, even though I know they are probably never going to live here again.
That sitting in a windowless office in front of a laptop for the best part of fifteen years was never going to be health-enhancing.
That floristry would have been a good career choice.
That all of the hesitation I had about opening my soul through writing this blog was...actually unfounded.
That no matter how much I really do care what other people think, I really shouldn't give a shit.
That on a day in 1992 when he cooked for me and cut his hands shucking oysters, I was lucky enough to have found a keeper. For reals.
That even when I have the very best intentions, I can still mess it up.
That I should trust my instincts nevertheless.
That sometimes it comes around again, despite my assertions that it's in the past. And that is how it goes.
That there is always, always someone worse off than me.
That I could have saved myself years of worry, money and experimentation with over-agressive skincare products. For me, washing with water and applying oil works best.
That seeing your girl go off to school looking effortlessly chic and sweet at the same time is utterly heart-warming. Every day.
That my son, who is just like my husband, does indeed have some of my traits; like a killer vocabulary and an imagination to rival Anne of Green Gables.
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