As much as I like to try and stay young at heart, every once in a while my body decides to remind me of my ever-increasing age. Today is one of those days where my knees and back are quite loudly pointing out that I am in my 60s and have injured myself numerous times over the last few decades.
I have spent much time today enjoying the relief brought to me by various analgesics and strategically placed hot and cold packs. My day has been mostly spent on the couch, with my legs up, a cat on my lap and my dog at my feet. Samantha and Lucy have been alternately curled up with me and caring for their old man. There was also some napping and some adult activities.
I’ve been reading 1984, playing Candy Crush Saga, listening to the Top Classical playlist on Spotify (50 best classical recordings from today’s leading performers, including 2016 Grammy nominees) and watching season 1 of Bones. It’s not a show that Lucy’s a fan of but Samantha is a big fan of the ‘here’s a dead body, lets solve the case’ type stories and I love detective.
Normally all of that would add up to the perfect rainy Satuday afternoon. But. Days like this when I’m feeling every single one of my years I start to wonder why my beautiful girls are with an old man like me. They’re both younger than me and I can’t help but think one day they’ll wake up and realise I’m not in my 40s like I used to be. I’ve mentioned it before and Samantha always says she’s not in her 30s any more either but I still think she’s beautiful, which she is and I do. And then she smacks me and tells me to stop being so stupid.
And so I do.