Back When Life Was A Bottomless Cask Of Chardonnay
Sydney Morning Herald
Thursday May 24, 2007
Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think I would look at a three-door, electric-blue Barina and be jealous. But lately, when I sit in traffic I can't help but follow young women glowing with perfect lip gloss and possibility, running across the street - I swear in slow motion - before jumping into their tiny fuel-efficient cars and driving off.
Where are they going? Do they live in a cute one-bedroom apartment and tonight, when they get home, will it be exactly as they left it? What if they don't come home? They don't have to tell a soul. Oh, I like the way they have changed the belt on that shirt-dress.Then thwack, someone in the back of the car throws the tiny shoe I've been looking for all week into the back of my head and I'm back to reality.Like a producer on a reality TV show, I seem to be spending too much time looking at women in their early 20s. Women living in that sweet pocket of adulthood before life gets too serious. A time where you drink in the afternoon with friends, do your weekly grocery shop at a petrol station and use a microwave daily, but never open an oven. A time of maximum freedom and minimum responsibility.Maybe I am looking at life through rose-coloured oversized sunglasses, but I reckon the early 20s are the golden years. This yearning and jealousy over the past is made doubly worse by the fact that every time I see one of these creatures I am reminded that I am not one any more."I may be listening to Justin Timberlake and wearing ankle boots and leggings," says a friend, "but then I see a car load of girls giggling and I become very self-conscious and realise I am 35." "I keep thinking I'm 24," another friend admits when I ask if her internal age bore any resemblance to the one on her driver's licence. "And when I see someone who is 37 in the paper or on the news, I think gawd, she's my age, am I really that old?" I am stuck at 22. That was a good year. Two?minute noodles for dinner, a rack for my clothes and a bottomless cask of chardonnay in the fridge. It's only when I hear myself talking to friends about stain removal, or attempt a forward roll in my living room, or ask the shop assistant at General Pants which jean has the longest rise, because I don't want people to see my bottom when I bend over, that I take a sharp intake of breath and realise I am married with three kids, a mortgage and a cubbyhouse in the backyard.Yes, yes, growing up, coping with a complex world and maturing is terrific. It makes you a better person. You develop a greater understanding of humanity and reality; your world becomes richer and so, too, do plastic surgeons. But having a Barina, friends who are available to come along for the ride any time, and nothing but the road between you and a quick stop for Lean Cuisine for dinner, I can't help but think, that's living.
© 2007 Sydney Morning Herald