Wednesday, January 09, 2008

The pesky youth

I'm not quite at mid-life crisis point yet, as I hope to live long beyond 58, but I have taken stock and come up with inventory of Radge, 2008. Everything changes and everything stays the same.

Maturing:

The washing up must be done immediately, with minimum time on the draining board. Who can be looking at them? Not me anyway. Cleanliness in radgeliness.

I look forward to a good episode of Prime Time, and Questions And Answers provokes thought as opposed to the switching over to the football.

I drink herbal teas, and coffee is now ground. No more with the Gold Blend.

I frown upon shots. Mostly.

I house a plant.

I buy tea towels.

I worry about cleaning the oven after cooking, worry being the operative word. I actually clean it roughly once a month, a big step up from never.

Vitamins. Daily.

I notice when people get haircuts, men and women. Actually, I always noticed, but I now voice it.

I can admit freely when a member of the same sex is good looking, confident I won't be mistaken for a homosexual.

I no longer listen to young people's music.

RTE. Radio. One.

Matching socks always.

I wonder where my taxes are going.

I correct assignments, as opposed to write them.

I meet people for coffee.

I feel the cold more.

I praise the advent of online banking at least once a week.

I put off social engagements to do my washing.

I own more than one pair of shoes. And a suit.

I sigh loudly when I see the youth of today doing, well, anything.

I have a bed-time.

I enjoy correcting spelling mistakes.

I pay for family meals. Well, once to this point, and I expect kudos for it for years to come.

I have, in my lifetime, bought a spatula.

Immaturing:

I have a Bebo page.

The Griffith College Student Handbook that I spilt beer on during a drunken session last November is still on the floor under the chair in my living room.

I do a 'half laugh' every time I fart on my own.

Pasta. Daily. It seems.

I never remember to water the plant.

I frequently ignore my bed-time.

I'm still late with the assignments.

I pretend two miniature basketballs in work are my testicles, and sit with them in place until someone (Dave) notices.

I own a water pistol.

I lost my water pistol.

I can't even be responsible for the safe upkeep of a water pistol.

I still refer to 'the gays'.

I feel myself reddening when talking to a particularly attractive female. While I have attained (I do hope) a certain level of skill in the conversational aspect of pre-coital verbosity (chatting up), my face betrays the urge to plunder.

I can't negotiate wages.

The subject of the housing market/economy in general makes me yearn for self harm.

1 comment:

Terence McDanger said...

That sir, was quite brilliant. Not a thing on there that I haven't thought myself.