Putting on my socks is not as easy as it once was, says Wyn Drabble. Photo / File
Putting on my socks is not as easy as it once was, says Wyn Drabble. Photo / File
Don't you hate it when you open the cupboard door and you forget what you came for? You possibly know already that it happens increasingly as you age.
Such things are sent to try us.
I have a roundabout traffic version too. The central roundabout in my town has sixradiating roads. Once, as I approached it, I experienced sudden panic. I had quite forgotten where I was going so knew not which road I needed.
Of course, I could eliminate one of the choices because I was already on it. But that still left five options. There is friendly side to a roundabout, however, and that is that you can drive around it. So I did. It only took one circuit before my memory retrieved my intended destination.
And don't you hate it when you have five items to carry from the car into the house and you decide to take all five in the one trip? To save time. You juggle and balance, turn door handles awkwardly, drop three of the items, breaking one. Even five trips would have been easier.
Then there's chip dip retrieval. You've dipped your chip and as you begin the return journey the chip breaks leaving half of it buried in the dip. You employ another chip – a good sturdy one – as your retrieval tool but it too breaks. A fork might help now or you could just walk briskly away from the chippery dippery.
And don't you hate it when you are trying to give clear directions to someone to get to your house and they ask you to refrain from using words like "east".
An old favourite is the single sock. Where can the other one be? A reader sent me an email with a possible explanation: your missing sock comes back as a Tupperware lid but one that doesn't fit any of your containers.
Such things are sent to try us.
Wyn Drabble
Do you want to know what set me on this theme today? Well, I'll tell you even though it's a tad embarrassing.
I have been developing an increased awareness that, if people want evidence that I'm getting older, they just have to watch me doing two things:
Getting out of the car.
Trying to put my socks on.
I see young and sprightly things getting out of their cars and it involves one fluid movement. I'm afraid mine involves a number of repositionings.
Slipping on a sock used to be a simple matter of sliding it over the foot. Now there's a preamble – finding a comfortable position and maintaining it – before beginning the procedure. If it's a tight-fitting sock, this procedure can chomp into a fair bit of your day.
On the worst days, getting back up again seems out of the question so it's a case of looking around for anything else that needs to be done while you're down there (an oldie, I know, but still a goodie).
Even worse is when you wake up early, run through the usual sock routine and the whole get-ready-for-work rigmarole and then it dawns on you that something is wrong. It's Saturday. Yes, I know many people work on Saturdays. But not you.
And, speaking of getting up, don't you hate it when you realise that you used to be able to get up without making sound effects. You simply ... got up. Silently.
Such things are sent to try us.
My internetting found this poster which Monday-morning haters might like to copy and hang on their wall.
I don't like Monday mornings.
Or people who like Monday mornings.
Or Monday.
Or mornings.
Or people.
• Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, musician and public speaker.
