And I have a mirror to tell me I am not a young adult, indeed to be polite an older adult. Too honest by half. The cheeks are furrowed, laughter lines are no longer laughing matter. Jowls is a new word to the Pryce vocabulary canon. It is not only a word, I have some jowls to demonstrate to any person to whom a jowl is an unknown word what a jowl is. I am still an Educator ~ an older Educator ~ an unwanted Educator with jowls.
I appear to have a brain that is capable of lying in face of contrary evidence. As long as I am not facing a mirror, I appear to be a believer in telling tall tales of "strange but true" stories that tell of myself in words such as taut, firm, pert, a good-looking specimen of a boy for his age. I refuse to read the label on trousers. I will sqeeze embarrassingly into things that are politely called tight fitting as in "My word that stitching is good". Darn good.
The optician does discounts on rose tinted spectacles in my neighbourhood. I like discounts. Nagging doubts are for nags and I do not nag, unless there is a red line on the bank account .
But in the back of the brain it knows, the stories are with the pre-fix "Once upon a time..."
Life's little necessities creep by, I have to shave but this is not the face I have in my head, that I appear to have imagined is rugged, that has aged gracefully, matured into adulthood to become iconic. The razor flows not smoothlz but jars and travels in hills and chasms that plough a moving feast of stubble evolving into greyness.
So I am adult and I must face my demons. I am adult called "Lardy" by those who should know better.
Inbetween demons and and this man called Lardy, is the teenager. The face of demon-hood is called Teenager and the name the Teenager calls me is Lardy. He may be right. I moved from Daddy to Lardy in in the space of months, oh Lordy.
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