Growing Up

I've been thinking about growing up, considering it. Mitch and I visited some friends of ours, last weekend, who have a baby, their first. It's kind of thrilling to me seeing people go through different phases of life. Their context changes so much that you get to see them under new lights.

I am not considering having children, but - when times are good - I think this growing-up and -old thing won't be so bad. Maybe I'll develop some of those big middle-aged woman breasts or finally get into bangles. Growing old won't be so bad if I can establish some weekly activity with friends, like trivia night. We can get together and talk about leaky roofs and aching bones and marriages that aren't looking as good as we had hoped. Then we'll drink cocktails and try to remember which president imposed the embargo on Cuba (Kennedy).

I think the best way to get old would be as a british man growing fat on ale and chips. If you're a middle aged british man, you're allowed to be as ugly and honest as you want. All you have to care about is going to the pub for a pint after work and following Arsenal.

The gout would be a drawback.

When I'm not terrified of the future, about failures and breaking-down bodies, I'm optimistic. If we live, we'll get to see so much.

Here's a vine my friend's baby helped me make. We're adorable.