Middle Age: Owning up to my shortcomings

When I turned 30 I promptly sat down and typed an enthusiastic article about turning 30.  And how to have it all figured out. I honestly expected it to be a breezy ride. Well, yeah ….

I had goals.  And plans. Like how to graduate from melamine and plastic cups to House of Leather mugs. And to drinking wine out of real glasses, not disposable cups recycled the whole year.

I was also going to start dressing like a lady, not the tramp that I am, and to remember to shave my armpits.  So I had one dress made. Then it was too much to get into it I had it made into a skirt.  And my ladyship project stalled after that.

Being a lady is more complicated than we think. You know it means for you to be a little light-headed, which I am not. I am a bag lady. I carry umbrellas, coats, shoe polish, scarves and chargers. All that in a big bag or two. And two pairs of shoes. A rough-road pair and a normal road one. And socks, and a sandwich, in case I get hungry later.

If the roads were smooth I'd probably need one of those pushcarts I see homeless people pushing in movies.

It is 2017, and I still cannot cook to save my life. I know people go for cooking lessons, I have had a few, but  I seem to forget what goes where when. But I admit it now, I can't cook. Maybe I should try another form of cooking. Coz boiling doesn't work- I burn my pasta when I boil it. Frying doesn't work- my soup is always too watery or with clods of corn flour in an effort to thicken it, deep frying is a health hazard, I might turn anytime and the hot oil will come down on my feet.

I also assumed I'd stop being affected by people's actions, worries and oddities. I guess that is part of me now. Mother Teresa. Just give me a story.

I still spell very badly and cannot pronounce some English words but what am I? The grammer police? No I'm just a regular Kenyan juggling four languages in every sentence, trying to make sense.
I do, sometimes.
Sometime I donno who is the person sitting down lost in thought.