Sitting in a coffee shop, I realise I am getting old. I may even be old. I was going to buy a piece of cake. But I didn't. First sign of getting old: I knew I could make them for less. Second sign of getting old: I DID NOT WANT TO EAT ANY OF THEM.
I remember reading that taste buds alter as you get older. I remember being certain that I would always want sugar – how could you not? How could there be such a thing as ‘too sweet’?
Now, I look at the counter. Carrot cake: I love carrot cake. Chocolate brownies, spiced apple cake, choc walnut cookies, dark chocolate almond torte. These are all words I like. And I have not eaten much today: I am certainly not full. Dinner is still several hours away. But nothing appeals.
I think perhaps I have been trying to ignore the signs of getting older. There have definitely been other hints. For example, I cannot remember the last time I went to bed with make-up on. It doesn’t matter how tired I am or how late it is (generally not very late): I don’t want clogged skin and I don’t want stuff on my pillows.
I sometimes wash the pots straight after eating. You know, because it’s so much easier when the food hasn’t hardened on the plate. And a clean kitchen is pleasing. I do this only rarely at present. I am sure washing up immediately after meals will soon become the norm.
I forget my age. At least, I don’t immediately know it when asked. I have to think about what year it is now (this also takes time), then I can answer, or at least offer a best guess.
I have tried eBooks and don’t like them (‘I prefer the real thing; digital copies have no soul’ etc).
I like flat shoes and not because they are cool: it isn’t practical to totter around all day. You can go so much faster and further in flats. Plus, heels are painful (but wonderful – I cannot give them up. Yet).
It isn’t full-blown old age:
- I still love trendy coffee shops (as long as they’re not trying too hard)
- I like putting pink spray in my hair
- I squeal with excitement when I see a labradoodle or spoodle
- I often get overwhelming urge to cuddle aforementioned oodles.
But I know it is coming. Soon I will be wondering ‘Will I be warm/cool enough in this outfit?’ rather than ‘How cool does this outfit look?’. I’ll be stuffing my knee boots to help them keep their shape. I’ll be looking doubtfully at the knee boots, wondering if they’re really appropriate (I hope I’ll just put them on anyway).
On the plus side, I understand that old people are free to pass audible judgement on anyone and everyone, couldn't care less what others think of them and have a tendency to wear purple. So there are some things to look forward to. In the meantime, I’ll teeter on the cusp, knitting in my knee boots. And hopefully still enjoying cake. As long as I have made it myself and the whole thing costs less than the price of two shop-bought slices.