There’s no getting around it. Not even with a Melways, a torch and sturdy pair of hiking boots. It’s just too big. Better, then, to take a deep breath and admit it outright – middle age has well and truly arrived and there is nothing left to do but to embrace it in all it’s tea-sipping, slipper-wearing, youth-pitying glory than to deny it. I’ll admit I was slow to realize. One moment, you’re an edgy, fashion-busting, envelope-pushing bona-fide young person surfing the counterculture wave with the utmost of ease. Then, almost overnight, you’re stuck in middle age and yelling at the television. Not that there weren’t warning signs.
I swear it’s trying to tell me something. Without my so much as asking, it takes the initiative. It probably means well, but the cold, hard truth of the matter is that these efforts are both unnecessary and unwelcome. Put simply, it’s reading my mood all wrong and – if I’m being honest about it – I’m beginning to find it quite tedious. It’s not helpful and every time it happens it seems like a misreading of the circumstances. Honestly, it’s as though my wife’s Ford Focus doesn’t know me at all.
Continue reading “When A Ford Focus Looks Into Your Soul”