At the age of 39.5, I think I'm starting to show signs of adulthood. I'm not sure, and I hope I can nip the condition in the bud, but there's no denying the symptoms are there. Let's analyze:
1. Less is really more?
No, this isn't a life lesson. It has to do with ... Tang. I love Tang. Like really, really love it. For decades, I have terrorized people with it. If some unsuspecting innocent says yes to my offer of tang, it's a medical risk. Fill half the glass with the powder, fill the rest with water and, to add insult to injury, add a pinch of salt to heighten the sweetness. That's my death formula and I loved it. One sip, and people would usually choke, cough and then, as the sugar reached the vital organs, their eyes would roll back in their heads.
But now, I find myself putting in one measly teaspoon of Tang in the glass. I have even, at times, painfully transferred some of it back into the packet. No more salt. It's...worrying. Why has this happened to me?
2. I want...
A life partner. 'To share my joys and sorrows with?' you may ask. No. 'For those cold, lonely nights?', you say? No. I'm just thrilled with all that as it is, thank you. No. I have discovered the absolute back-breaking labor that goes into a particular chore. I just hate it. It's called 're-filling'. Refilling the various hand wash dispensers around the house, the oil dispensers, the soap box, and stuff like that. Does that happen to you? Every time you turn around, the damn hand wash dispenser is empty? Yeah, for me too.
That's when the war begins. I fill it with a bit of water. That buys me a few more days. I pump it till it spits out air and cries out in agony. Then I try a bit more water. There are hardly any bubbles, but that's life. Then for a day or two, I avoid that sink. I will walk across the length of my house to the other sink. One day, that one will give out too. I'll use my aloe vera face wash once or twice to wash my hands and feel guilty about it.
Eventually, I realize that the breaking point has been reached. The war is lost. Out come the refill packet (which was a stone's throw away from the sink the whole time) and I go around the house re-filling.
Throughout this journey, these days, I find myself muttering, "If I had one of those damn husband things, I would make it him do this." So there. You see, another symptom.
3. Grey areas
This does not refer to my hair, although it would be accurate. I mean that the grey areas of life have expanded and encroached on all the black and white. I'm finding it a tad bit more difficult to be judgmental. That's troubling. If one cannot sit back and enjoy one's righteous anger, what else is there to life (apart from good food), I ask!
I'm afraid that I will end up all nice and accepting one day in the distant future. That is a dangerous thing because it it encourages more people into your life. More People. Ugh. We can't have that, can we? My very reputation as a grouchy recluse is at stake!
So you see, people, I have these symptoms and maybe a few more I haven't discovered yet. If any of you have discovered a cure for this, please get in touch. I will reward you handsomely, with as many glasses of Tang as you please. No salt.
