In some ways I know that Cameroon had aged me beyond my years. No
gray hairs yet, but while looking out the window of a friend’s house yesterday I had to sincerely fight the urge to yell at passing hooligan kids “get off my lawn!” It wasn’t even my lawn, but I felt squatter’s right applied.
An injury I sustained by doing a split
far too enthusiastically and without warm-up left my hip on the outs. Sometimes it gets achey if my chair’s too hard. Sometimes I grab it and go “ugh”, like the old people in the commercials on televisions. Waiting in line at the DMV and seeing all those itty bitty people revving up 2000lb killing machines made me thankful of the unrenewed license in my hand (now taken care of, Mom and Dad) and my insistence on letting everyone else drive. When did people born in ’97 possess enough manual dexterity to crank an engine? Wasn’t I just changing their diapers?
Technology leaves me clueless, as my practice with smart phones is limited to the two year old iPod I’m currently typing on, since the wireless in my sister’s house for whatever reason doesn’t work on a computer as old as mine. People keep accidentally calling it ‘my phone’ and then I have to explain my ignorance by pulling out my real phone, a flippy little thing popular during my early high school years.
People are scanning checks into apps and asking their cars for directions and living in a world where you have do-it-yourself hibachi bars, which frankly kind of blows my mind the most of the three. Meanwhile, I bumble around like an octogenarian wondering aloud when things got so gosh darn new fangled.
But like an elderly woman crossing the street, people have been kind. They’ve treated my poor self to lunch and calmly explain what the heck a Snap
Chat is and coaxed my out of my turtle shell with regards to how much half the world has changed since I was last in it. Sure they get to laugh now, but after the apocalypse strikes and we’re all eating puff puff and beans, who will really be laughing?
Sent from my iPod