I find myself in the prime of life, although sometimes it’s hard to tell – tending to corpulence, sporting a pimple or three (are you still supposed to get those after puberty?), every day governed by routine (it would take a task force and organization on an epic scale to introduce any semblance of spontaneity to my life! Which kind of defeats the point.), the monotony of cooking dinner EVERY night. This is the prime of life?

Well, you’ll just have to imagine it.  Try harder.  Add Bridget Jones knickers. There you go!  But apparently, strictly statistically speaking, I am at my sexual peak (so there!).

I catch myself paraphrasing my parents, especially with my kids, “finish your vegetables, there are children starving in Ethiopia.” Or, “I can give you something to cry about.” In conversations with teenagers and young adults I inevitably end up using sentences that include “when we were your age.” I see them rolling their eyes, muttering something about having to walk to school and no mobile phones and 25 cents could buy you a coke AND crisps, and we didn’t have a TV, and rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb.

I realize I am uncool and my kids think I am ancient (well, they are both under 6 years old – EVERYBODY is ancient.  My only comfort.), and if I were to go to a nightclub, most people there would be thinking something along the lines of mutton and lamb.  On the other hand, I bring the average age down to 50 at the local bingo or quiz night – and I have to listen to the oldies “whenwe” chatter as punishment (and to polish my own). One of these days we will compare stories on who had the tougher childhood!

Under pressure from my daughter to perform in the “mom’s race” at her school this Saturday, I have considered training (for a very brief moment). Suffice to say, I didn’t win last year much to her disappointment. I thought I would give the “winning isn’t everything, it’s how you play the game…” speech – apparently that speech is for losers – of which I was one … but let’s not dwell on it. We’ll see how I fare this weekend.  At least she can collect some “whenwe” memories of her own … tortuous recollections of mom blundering over the finish line fourth – one up on last year.

I am ever hopeful!

I sometimes think that most of our road users in Zimbabwe bought their driver’s license – it is a free-for-all, survival of the fastest and most daring jungle out there!

Do you recognize anyone?

1. The “Kamikaze Pot-Hole Dodger”
I won’t reduce my speed even though I know the road is pitted with peril – I rather maintain my preferred 80 km/h in the OTHER lane and play chicken with oncoming traffic (the holes always appear more friendly on the other side).  This is particularly entertaining if I can involve a few cyclists (uphill for extra points) and a couple of pedestrians who don’t want to get their feet wet in the grass – preferably walking abreast so as not to interrupt their conversation.

2. The “Secondary Smoker” (two types)
a. I am trying to get as close as I possibly can to your exhaust pipe, nothing gives me a rush like forcing you to indicate 2 km before you want to turn, the panicked arm-out-of-the-window calisthenics cracks me up and I can see the whites of your eyes in your rear-view mirror as you frantically check whether I am going to slow in time as you turn.  What sport!

b. My un-roadworthy vehicle provides a dense cloud of black smog for you all to enjoy.  To prolong your pleasure, I drive 40km/h (let’s be honest, my car doesn’t go any faster – I wonder why they give me a new disc every year, surely a sign of approval) on a single lane road in rush hour traffic.  For extra points I count the number of cyclists blinded by the smoke and halted by lung-wrenching coughs.

3. The “Lesser-spotted Bus Driver” (usually a bus driver but not exclusively)
It is not enough that, when driving at night, you have no overhead lights, no road markings to steer by and monster potholes lurking in the gloom.  For added entertainment, I come crabbing down the road (twisted suspension being a fairly long-standing accessory for the discerning bus driver), with one light on.  I imagine you in your little vehicle wondering “is it a bird? Is it a plane? And which f***ing way is it going??”  But just as you begin to despair, I help you out by switching on my brights, strategically timed – thereby blinding you into the ditch adjacent to the road (which has a 25cm drop-off edge by the way – bonus points for losing a tire!)

I could go on: people who think hazard lights give them right of way, the mobile maniacs (“where did I put that phone?”), trucks overtaking trucks, 4×4 users who have no idea how to drive them … But what I really wanted to say, do yourself and all of us a favour – don’t buy your child a driver’s license.  It isn’t worth it; it’s a death sentence, for your child or someone elses.