It has always been a race... Slipped into my mother's high-heeled shoes, draped her discarded sari on a dull rainy day, played 'mother-baby' like family games or 'teacher-teacher' with my buddies. Longed to catch up with age, to be able to wear lipstick and have boyfriends. Marriage was another dream to daydream about and then having real babies to fawn over. Wished to have a career and accomplished that too.
Now, facing with a frown the sixtieth year of my life that will soon arrive at the door, I still need to catch up. This time it's with the youth all around me. Oh, can't I just take up a mobile phone and explore its mysteries or confidently surf the mindboggling vistas of the Internet without having to beg my nimble-fingered children or nephews and nieces to show me how to wend my way through this maze of technology!
Having longed in my youth to put on some more kilos and some oomph in vital places on my thin frame, now in my middle years, I am longing to catch up with the definately-illusive 'zero-size' benchmark; have to remember to discard niceties like "I'm fine thank you' and brush up on 'I'm good, dude! or "I'm cooool man, coool!' When something goes beserk I need to stay my ground and not run for shelter but sport a glassy-eyed disdain and declare 'Just chill out...'
Am I trying to keep up with the Jonesses or just trying to fight to retain my space in the sun? Whatever, still trying to 'Catch up!'
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