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 materialized. 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 gets 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.
Writetoliberty's Blog 
“Just wait till I grow up” sounds like what a teenager would say, eagerly awaiting life and the supposed freedom for limitless spending and enjoyment as viewed from his young goodly mind, having not been exposed to the limitations of adulthood. “If I grow up”, now those are the words of one who has been exposed to the harsh realities of our world, perhaps hit in the middle of the eye by them. That’s a beautiful way to end a piece and now that I think of it, I have never looked forward to being old. I have been far too old, for too long.
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