“Sensible as pyjamas”.

It’s Sunday morning and I’m listening to the radio.  The phrase captivates me; I cannot leave it be.   It is suspended above the crater that was my imagination.  

My husband is gone out.  He’s on a ‘ride-out’, meeting another group of mid-life easy-riders, for Sunday morning breakfast no less!  He’s getting closer and closer to buying a Harley-Davidson.  My bones ache at the thought of it.   Further evidence, even beyond my expanding bedtime wardrobe, of my own incipient aging: I should be quite comfortable on one today, now that Harley’s have a rear suspension.  

An incidental word of caution here, reader: if Googling this fact, do not search for ‘soft tail’ but rather ‘softail’.   I should not wish to be responsible for deflecting your own midlife madness into any regrettable detours.  

Meanwhile, I wash the floors and approach aromatherapeutic serenity: pine scented water, incense sticks in the washed rooms, oil burners on the landings.     Scents and sensibility. Wearing not only pyjamas but a dressing gown.  

When did I get so old?

(Podcast the programme , Sunday Morning Miscellany, at http://www.rte.ie/radio1/sundaymiscellany/live.html )