One day we realize they might have come up with six hundred flavours of chocolate bars but plain chocolate is the best; that our first car, rusted and unreliable as it might have been, will always be the one we felt freest in; that young people today couldn’t care less about 1985, just like we couldn’t have cared less about 1950; that talking like a teenager makes us sound emotionally challenged; that we have children to replace us; that running to the corner store leaves us out of breath long before we ever get there; that a stranger who calls us by our first name is being rude, that a tree we’ve planted is going to take thirty years before we can sit in its shade and, the day it does, we’ll be worried its roots might be damaging our foundations; that the ugly girl from high school we told we weren’t interested has become rich and good-looking and funny, and engaged and happy; that, in the ads for luxury cars aimed at old fogies, they play the music we grew up to; that being happy makes you better-looking, even though for years we thought being better-looking would make us happier; that coffee really does stop you sleeping; that the new guy at the office could be our son; that the women who used to look at us don’t see us anymore and the women who didn’t use to see us are now the ones looking at us; that there are buttons on the remote control we’re never going to use; that admitting our faults and failings makes them smaller; that we have the same weird habits as our parents, even though they used to drive us crazy; that we snore; that that thing we never plucked up the courage to do wasn’t all that difficult when we look back on it; that, if you want to talk to other people, you just have to say hello; that all the athletes our age have retired; that that movie we loved when we were twenty is terrible; that entrusting a ring upon which all of humanity depends to an unadventurous, hairy-footed dwarf is ridiculous; that we’ll die before we’ve seen, heard, and done it all; that the year 2000 was only just yesterday and that yesterday was a hundred years ago; that if life had meaning, we’d wish it didn’t.
One day we realize all that and we smile. That’s the day we deserve a nice, cold beer.
Microfiction by Daniel Rondeau
from J’écris parce que je chante mal