And I'll play with things that Mum pretends
That Mums don't think are fun
When I grow up...
I've discovered something. I think it might be called "being a grown-up". This is a new and interesting concept to me, and I most definitely don't like it. Although it has its advantages: among them, the ability to stay out past your bedtime, attend "adult" meetings of organisations you've been in since childhood and listen to everyone else making dirty innuendo without having to initiate it myself.
Take last night, for instance. I'd just been sitting in said meeting. The window was open, the cool night air circulating the small, warm room full of grown-ups doing grown-up things. Robinson's dad was eating cake, Robinson's mum was drinking water, my friend-who-is-a-teacher was taking notes, and I was pretending to fly on a dragon.
"Right," said one of our number: a single mother of two. Balding, greying, vegetarian and, like most of the people there, a teacher. "I've got to get home," she announced, standing up and pulling on a regulation coat of lurid purple and blue lining. "I've got the plumber coming in the morning to check my pipes..."
|All plumbers look like this.|
"I wish it was..." she started, before trailing off, breaking into a slight grin, blushing and practically zooming out of the door.
Immediately this image came to mind, along with the music you'll hear by clicking here, in a kind of glorious synchronicity. Along, of course, with the urge to laugh, masturbate and cry deeply to my shattered soul all at the same time.
Because that is what being a grown-up's all about: the realism of everyday life.