The Chick Pea Dream

The other night, I dreamt I was lying on a bed of chick peas. 

I know! 

It was disturbing. 

Why couldn’t I be swimming through a pool of melted chocolate, or burrowing through the middle of a giant éclair?!

Chick peas!

What does it mean?

What on earth is wrong with me?

I pondered these big questions for some time and, then, it dawned on me. 

It’s a sign. 

A sad sign. 

A sign that I’m getting old. 

Common sense is replacing passion and danger. 

Even in my dreams.

I remember the days when I used to dream that I could fly or conquer an army or save my entire family from an erupting volcano. There might even have been a cameo appearance from Tom Selleck or a hazelnut gateau. 

 

But now, my dreams have been reduced to dreary, protracted episodes where I’m running late for an appointment because I can’t put my trousers on straight. Or worse still, they’re just full of chick peas. (The dreams, not the trousers!)

Nothing says ‘old lady’ like a dream about chick peas. 

Unless it’s a dream about prunes ….

But it gets worse. A deeper look at my life revealed more tell-tale signs that I am moving further and further away from a youthful attitude to life. Here are the most troubling:

Shoes. My top priority when shopping for shoes has become comfort. Gone are the days when a fine patent leather stiletto-heeled pump will win out over a sturdy walking boot with a padded arch and good  ankle support. My current faves are brown suede and not so very different from the desert boots my brother used to wear in the ‘70s. Comfy? You bet! Stylish? Let’s just say that they’re the chickpeas of the shoe kingdom…

Coffee. I limit my coffee intake. If I don’t, I can’t sleep at night. I also have trouble sleeping if I eat dinner too late, watch something exciting on TV after 9 pm, use the wrong pillow  or have an early appointment in the morning. I have, of course, become my grandmother - by which I mean my grandmother at 90.

The Cinema. I look for early movie showings at the cinema. It’s even better if it’s one of those bargain showings that only cost $11. And I don’t like all that new-fangled CGI sci-fi stuff that youngsters are watching nowadays.

Tippling. I enjoy a tipple of sherry. Just the cheap stuff that sits at the back of the pantry in case I want to make trifle. Actually, the fact that I always have a bottle of sherry on hand for making trifle is, in itself, a bit of an old lady thing ... and, perhaps, the fact that I use the word 'tipple'.

Inspector Barnaby. I think he’s a kind and decent man and was thrilled to learn that a new season of ‘Midsomer Murders’ was beginning last Sunday - although I was careful to record it rather than watch it in real time because the excitement would have kept me awake all night!

So there you have it. 

I’m no longer a spring chicken. 

The proof is in the pudding ... or the trifle.

Although, I’m sure I had you convinced at the chickpeas.

What signs of ageing are creeping into your life?

Do share!

Take a squiz at this:
Just in case Tom Selleck has deserted your dreams, too, here's a short blast from the past.