You know you are growing up when…

Last weekend…

You start comparing medications.

Individual members of our family, I included, have allergies – to dust, smoke, pollen, some fragrances and a host of other inhalable particles we cannot quite pin down. The havoc wreaked on our noses, throats, ears and eyes is unlike most discomforts I have ever endured. The flare-ups always come at the best times: when we are at a party, on a night out, in church, or during the weekly company meeting.

I go for a tiny mchele-like tablet called Zyncet. It works, as the saying goes, like magic. The relief is near instant, lasting for up to a week, with no visible adverse side-effects. Unlike Celestamine, there is no drowsiness and lethargy, and you can pretty much go on with your day unhindered. I recommended it to my cousins last weekend. One took me up on it yesterday. I always have a couple of tablets handy.

Mara Moja is the best painkiller for hangovers. It works so remarkably well; it is suspected to cure the pain of broken hearts. At least that is what was implied about its efficacy. Panadol is mostly a dud. You buy the name, not because it works better.

You no longer feel left out when spending a weekend indoors.

There we were, cousins and an aunt, indoors having lunch and catching up and it came up: how going out is becoming something of a moral decision more and more with each passing year. There are so many things to consider – how you are getting to the joint and back, what you have planned for the following day (or, more accurately, the next week), will there be food, and so on.

Notice in all these no mention is made of money: how much the drinks cost at a particular spot, how the cars will be fuelled, what accommodation will set you back. Rarely does money come into these negotiations. You are arguing with your mind and your body whether going out is a good idea, not with your bank account.

Barely a year ago I would have been the one asking “Turn-up wapi leo?!” Nowadays I grudgingly suggest it, a bit too meek to keep quiet or admit that I would rather sleep or watch a series or a movie. I always hope someone will say no (someone always says no) so that it will look like I tried. I am still unconsciously living up to an expectation set up for me a long time ago: The Wild One. That is a story for another occasion.

Then again, barely a year ago I had no money for said turn-up, and now that I somewhat can afford to go out, it no longer seems important or even necessary. I am thinking of getting a better phone or nice-smelling cologne, something just for me (after I get my place, of course). Or, I could get my Mum and sisters some cute bags, or Papa a few packs of Heineken, maybe save up and see the world.

A better class of problems indeed. Isn’t growing up lovely?


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