Recently, I had a stark realization: I’ve officially entered the realm of middle age. What does that even mean? Should I be wearing a suit of armor and slaying dragons? Because, honestly, I don’t even like wearing regular suits, let alone ones that could double as a medieval frying pan. The next time I’m dragged to a formal event, don’t be surprised if I show up in chain mail. And no, I’m not talking about those annoying chain mail letters that guilt you into forwarding them to ten friends or else—though, come to think of it, that would be a unique fashion statement.
As for the dragon-slaying bit, do I really need to go all St. George on some poor mythical creature? I mean, I am middle-aged, after all. Shouldn’t I be looking for simpler solutions? Like maybe just playing with the dragon instead? A nice game of fetch sounds more my speed. But what do you throw for a dragon, exactly? A Dragon Ball Z? They don’t exactly sell dragon-sized frisbees at the local pet store. And while we’re at it, training the dragon could be fun—I’ve seen How to Train Your Dragon enough times to know a few tricks. We could even become besties. Or beasties.
I imagine us lounging by the castle moat, listening to some bard strumming “Greensleeves” on his lute, while the dragon toasts marshmallows with its fire breath for s’mores. I could get used to this middle-aged gig. That is, until some evil warlock shows up, kidnaps a princess, and everyone starts looking at me like I’m supposed to do something about it. Just because I’m a dragon whisperer doesn’t mean I can mutter some magical words under my breath and defeat a wizard with a well-timed “shh!” I’m no good at fighting. I can’t even fight off sleep—close my eyes, and its goodnight.
Speaking of knights, I’d definitely need a band of them if there’s any hope of rescuing that princess. But instead of a Round Table, the best I can offer is my slightly stained coffee table. Of course, then they’d expect coffee—and probably a coffee cake to go with it. Before you know it, we’re all sitting around, sipping lattes, sharing stories about back pain, and completely forgetting there’s a princess in need of saving. Maybe this middle-aged thing isn’t as glamorous as it sounds after all.
