Tuesday, July 07, 2009
You know you’re getting old when . . .
- You put the wheelie bin out two days in advance, and collect it five minutes after the truck has been. Instead of vice versa.
- You no longer have the chronic disease of intermittent raging thirst, which compels you to the potentially life-saving step of carrying a full water bottle whenever you are more than 100m from a reliable water source. That’s the good news; the bad news is that, despite newly being able to go for whole hours without even a sip of water, you will have the frequent, intermittent but raging need to do a wee whenever you are out and about.
- You no longer casually cast five-cent pieces from your pocket into your proverbial or literal too-hard basket, but plot to spend them soon, like they are radioactive ticking bombs. Invariably, you will come up with the Noah’s Ark strategy – two by two they can be usefully expended, before their accumulation becomes a biblical flood.
However, I’m still yet to experience my episode of the seemingly compulsory middle-aged-man, silly-hat phase. I’m hoping that a mild, albeit grossly premature case of this phase in my twenties will be enough inoculation against it for a long while yet.
Happy 45th birthday to all us Winter of ’64 Xers.
- You put the wheelie bin out two days in advance, and collect it five minutes after the truck has been. Instead of vice versa.
- You no longer have the chronic disease of intermittent raging thirst, which compels you to the potentially life-saving step of carrying a full water bottle whenever you are more than 100m from a reliable water source. That’s the good news; the bad news is that, despite newly being able to go for whole hours without even a sip of water, you will have the frequent, intermittent but raging need to do a wee whenever you are out and about.
- You no longer casually cast five-cent pieces from your pocket into your proverbial or literal too-hard basket, but plot to spend them soon, like they are radioactive ticking bombs. Invariably, you will come up with the Noah’s Ark strategy – two by two they can be usefully expended, before their accumulation becomes a biblical flood.
However, I’m still yet to experience my episode of the seemingly compulsory middle-aged-man, silly-hat phase. I’m hoping that a mild, albeit grossly premature case of this phase in my twenties will be enough inoculation against it for a long while yet.
Happy 45th birthday to all us Winter of ’64 Xers.
