Of Domestication And Growing Old...

My friends once made the comment that I'm damn domesticated, like I'm all bloody ready to settle down or something. I sincerely hope they were joking. Please.

Just because I can cook, bake and clean doesn't mean I'm halfway into marriage. Any halfbaked woman (and man!) can follow instructions. Just because I have a longterm boyfriend doesn't mean you're gonna see me carrying screaming brats (erm, my children) and walk around town without makeup because I just don't have the energy for it. *pout* I'm not domesticated, so there.

Sigh, I'm just tripping because I feel so old... Where have the carefree days of booze and giggles gone to? I was at Westmall earlier with my mum doing grocery shopping. Hey, I was at home, she was offering a good lunch, why the heck not? The problem, or horrified self-relevation, occurred when we were at the supermarket. My mum got me to weigh stuff, pick fruits, etc. And then it hit me. I can DO this stuff. Worse still, I actually ENJOY doing this. This is going beyond the usual oh-it's-so-fun-to-walk-arond-large-supermarkets-aimlessly. This was ACTUAL grocery shopping, picking into the bottom of the barrel to get the best fruits kind. AND I DO IT WELL.

Before you think I'm having another one of my bimbotic, emotional panics, trust me, it's not. You're reading the blog entry of a girl who seems to have misplaced her misspent youth (every youth should have one) and leaped directly into adulthood. The scary realities of adulthood. I look around the supermarket and I'm filled with this fear that I would be like all these other women: pushing ahead with large baskets, asking the butcher for the best cut of the meat and laughing teasingly when he reassures you that it is indeed the best. Poking at fish and choosing vegetables. Even the well-dressed ones were equally... AUNTIE.

Oh god, I know I always joke that I'm going to be a tai-tai, but at the rate things are going, I'd probably be a housewife. Scratch that. Even if I do become some corporate woman, I'd still have to do this. The routine, the normalcy... The lack of MINDLESS FUN. Is that what age promises? Routines? Shudder, shudder, shudder.

To top it all off, I had a fight with Fadz a few days ago. Something to do with indecisiveness. Anyway... in place of the usual yelling and silent treatment, I spoke to him coldly and logically. Handling it all maturely and calmheaded.

Not good, not good at all. Another step towards becoming a coldly independent, detached individual who views the world with a cynical glint in my eye. Someone who looks at the person she's talking to and thinks of what the outcome of the conversation should be and actively steers it that way, instead of just enjoying the pleasure of the conversation of allowing things to go as they wish.

Age. It's the ultimate disease. It wears you down, tears your soul and takes away your optimism for living. You leave among people who feel the same way and slowly, but insidiously, you eat away at each other. Nibble, nibble, nibble. Death (in all it's many forms), comes a knocking.

Gaah, I'm depressing.