A Stream of Consciousness: The Winds of Change
No, please, ladies first…
Those were the days when the world held the door open for you, when a seat was proffered to a woman of a certain age, meaning that age when you shouldn’t ask because she might’ve forgotten (…like did I turn 70 this year or last year), and What? My son’s age? … ermm, and she has to do the numbers in her head, which has become as insufferable as sudoku. But ageing has benefits – she can wear white trousers any time of the month, or year, and not give a figgy what other people think, and she can sit on a bench, close her eyes, and listen in on other people’s conversations, and nobody disturbs her because they assume she’s dozed-off. And she can talk to herself, and everyone thinks she’s praying because nowadays it’s mostly children and old ladies who attend mass. So I resolve to open a door for a young man. He’ll know that good manners make a person feel like they’re a small god.
It’s clear that the wind
won’t let up. It’s the
sprouts, I suppose.