“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 )