When I was a little tyke, maybe six, or seven, my first thought of what to do when I grow up was to have my own cash-dispensing ATM, and stuff that dotted line with more toys than I can carry around, more candies and ice cream and more friends than can fit into my room. But as I advanced into my teens, I shed those childish thoughts. I was even glad that the substance to fill the dotted line with never quite materialised. Toys and friends to share them with was the clueless aspiration of a hapless kindergarten. There was no place for such childish thought in the world of the grown up that teen was.
Teens always think they would never grow old. I was forever young. The fine things I think of doing, now that I had grown up and forever young, as a teen, is to fill that star-dotted line with things, things, things, and more things. Things and never enough of them- fast cars, fine clothes, fine blings, hip-hopping fine women in bikinis and birthday suits, and few troubles for balance- troubles like the nuisance of wake-up alarm, and the bothersome chore of wiping my own arse with silk when I use my gold-plated loo.
I just couldn’t wait to grow up. But that line, like a burrowed pit, never get fully filled with the things I craved as a teen. Mid-life helped somewhat, obliterating my teen dream with grey clouds. And old age helped stuff the dotted line with grey hair, potting-belly, balding hair, and money palava.
When I grow… if I grow up now, I will wake up and give up all the dreams for nothing but fine wine, fine women, fine music, and a few good books, for good measure, to fill-up, press-down, shake-together, and run-over those blistering lines.
I will yet move this Good Old World. Just wait till I grow up, if i grow up.