I still feel young, but I can’t help but notice the odd change or two. I find that some modern music annoys me enough to change the radio station. I have started talking about the good old days when tunes had lyrics, people were nicer and the summers were longer and warmer even though that’s probably all bollocks. As well as turning me into a miserable old bastard, age has also delivered some unwanted physical changes. I get two day hangovers – an absolute outrage that mere words cannot explain. I completely fail to function if I don’t get enough sleep. I started to get a little beer belly (although having baby cobra put an end to weight gain). But most noticeably, I found my first grey hair.
Everyone gets grey hairs. This time last year, I had three. Now, I am losing count. Speaking of hairs, I now have hair where I didn’t have it before. The last time this happened it was puberty which was the beginning of a wonderful voyage that involved girls’ boobs and bottoms and legs and things. This time, it is a voyage into electrical appliances that I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD EVER OWN (and frankly, didn’t even think existed) like a nose hair shaver. I mean, COME ON, a NOSE HAIR SHAVER? Then there are the hairs that grow ON my ears. That’s right, pop-pickers, ON, not IN. Mrs Cobras occasionally grabs one and pulls it out when I am hugely unprepared. The eye watering ZING has ensured that I regularly now hunt down and exterminate the longest ones to save myself the agony. I feel like I am de-evolving; a hypothesis supported by my increased enthusiasm for bananas.
So imagine my surprise when some teenager recently asked me if I was old enough to buy the mini-bottle de vin rouge which I sorely needed in order to fully enjoy the train ride home. I giggled politely until I realised that she was serious. I convinced her otherwise, fortunately, but it amused me that the last time that I was not legally able to purchase alcohol there was a USSR, portable music players held one album and were the size of house bricks, computing devices were not cool under any circumstances and the word Facebook was generally preceded with the words “LOOK OUT” and immediately followed with a book. In the face.
My, how time flies. It is 2012 and I still don’t have a rocket pack or flying car. Honestly, what are scientists doing with their days?
Oh, and I have a hairy toe, too. How the hell am I supposed to shave that? Try to contain your rampant feelings for this.
(PS: it will be my birthday soon, I will be in my “early 40s”. Feel free to send me gifts. I shall be baking a cake the size of a mill wheel that will need so many eggs that there will be hens that can’t walk for a week)