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| Blogs > CookiesNMischief > Hands in the Cookie Jar |
That Age
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That Age Ah, people. Let me know if you’ve heard this before: “It’s past my bedtime!” “You mean you want to eat dinner at 8??” “I can’t. Law and Order: SVU is on.” Friends of mine, those sort of folk who’s feelings and bones crackle like a worn out AARP membership card, tend to complain vocally about the number of physical and mental pains accumulate on their bodies, on an everyday basis. Now, when I have a certain sense of renewed vigor being a health minded individual interested in prolonging my life rather than fermenting on the couch catching ESPN highlights – not that there’s something wrong with catching what’s happening in the NBA Western Conference Finals - I get annoyed. Granted, these friends are a little older than me. Alas, maybe I’m overlooking the fact that when the numbers jumble up the line of thinking between a night out in the town, and enjoying a few extra hours of sleep, I am very much in favor of them having a slice of cake, and eat it too! There's a slight difference between 1 to 2 years versus 5 to 10. But the general consensus is routine becomes the status quo; anything else curving away from the straight edge is too much to ask. Yet, I only want them to share in my excitement. You see, me thinks catching the later showing of the new X-Men joint is worth downing a few cans of Red Bull in order to make it through the night. But instead of cheers, it’s more moans and groans – that reason alone makes me question whether it seemed like a good idea in the first place. In fact, to suggest any kind of activity becomes not one of fun, but an act of oppression on my part, as though I’m keeping them from the sleep they so desperately need – and that bothers me. Of course, before I can say anything, their posturing rhetoric becomes a lecture in-my-face. Yup, at any given moment, I’m reminded how often the words of can’t, won’t, and shouldn’t spew out of their mouths like a political platform. The need to exercise discontent seems the norm, and the defining reason behind the apathy is like crutching the ‘elderly card’ and using it as the best excuse for laziness. I'd be no better than them by complaining either. Just consider my written word an opportunity for me to vent. Kind of wonder though, if they would feel the same way if I put on the table sexual excursion instead. Would it be more like them jumping at the chance to fuck like bunnies, or will the slow roll become a struggle of a humping turtle climbing on to its mate be more their fancy. Don't know, they'd probably be asleep by then. |
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Don't ever get old.
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