Happy Stripes and Mournful Endearment

Post LV

Does anyone else ever forget their own age? Or is it just me? I think it might just be me. It’s a scary feeling. You don’t think about your own age very often, especially if you’re over 30. But once in a while, the issue of age raises its head. Now, it’s awfully stupid not to immediately know the answer. It’s like answering “what’s nine multiplied by three”, with the answer “kitten”. But I often stumble. But it gets worse. I then doubt what I’ve just said. “Erm, err, oh heck, erm, 20 – sigh – 21. That’s it. Right? 21? That doesn’t sound right. Really? I thought – oh, right. I am 21. Apparently”. Might just be me. I am a bit thick.

What about socks? Am I alone in feelings of despair when one finds oneself at an occasion where removal of shoes is required? You’re never expecting it. It’s always somewhere where you know that shoe removing will probably be involved, yet you never plan for it. You just turn up in your SpongeBob socks and think ‘oh, crap’. Not that I own SpongeBob socks, or indeed know what that is other than a popular reference. I was in a play area in a leisure centre this week and there was I, shoeless with stripy socks in bright shades of orange. To say it was a tad embarrassing is a colossal understatement.

I was, of course, there with a child. I aint very good with children, but the parents in the play area were so enamoured by the child I was minding, with his huge smile and boundless (and tiresome) energy, that I was sufficiently invisible to get away with it.

I did feel sorry for him. Children are especially hard work for shy people. “You want me to go on the bouncy castle with you? Really? In front of all these people? Are you sure you’re not tired? Don’t fancy a coffee? Anything else? No? So – the bouncy castle. That’s your choice?” Poor thing. Babies don’t expect people to turn them down. It gives them a terrible view of the world. But he knows me, so he didn’t try too hard.

I probably looked bored. To the baby and to the parents around me, but not as bored as the female member of staff at the other end of the play area. Her job was to watch over proceedings. I think that’s a sufficient term for children playing: proceedings. Her job didn’t look difficult. For the hour we were there, all she did was sit in a plastic chair. Arms folded. Eyelids as heavy as an older person’s eyelids. A look upon her face of sadness and regret.

Away from child minding, I had another pretty uneventful week. I could go on about the insane weather, but if I keep doing that every week, this blog will become the weather forecast. Oh you do want to hear about the weather? Oh well, I wasn’t gonna bother, but since you flatter me so much with your woo, I shall. Monday, Tuesday, weather hot: happy days. Wednesday, Thursday, torrential downpour: about as happy as the Fonz at a democratic convention.

All in all, a drenching wasn’t enough to ruin what has been a phantasmagorical week full of adventure and excitement. Literally, nonstop fun is the understatement of the century. Well, certainly the decade. Well, certainly a year. Well, more like a week. Well, maybe a day. Well, perhaps this hour. No, not all in fact. But I have a good feeling about next week. Don’t know why. Maybe I’ll go on the bouncy castle. Just maybe. No, you’re right. Not a chance in hell.

“This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last”, said the late, great Oscar Wilde.

Peace Out :|:

(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. To do so, you can leave a comment by pressing the bubble on the top right of this post and scroll to the bottom of the new page you’re taken to. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks). 

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