Fort Awesome

Last week, for the first time in my life I booked a table in a restaurant; something that most would find an inconsequential act. For me, however, it marks a milestone step forward down the path of adulthood.

There is something in the fore planning required to book a restaurant that smacks of life experience and the super sensible. It’s a discernable shift from the turn up and hang about paradigm of the student or the let someone older deal with it carelessness of childhood.

For me, though, the restaurant is more sacrilegious still. The truth I sometimes tell people is that I often prefer to prepare my own food due to the often-woeful vegetarian options available in the eateries of England. There is another truth though and that is that I’ve never really enjoyed eating out all that much; I’m picky about the things I put in my mouth, always have been. If I haven’t hand prepared it with my own delicate mandibles then it is to be treated with the utmost suspicion.

So booking a table should have the approximate joyfulness level of a naked acid bath with a troupe of racist squirrels. Yet instead I feel satisfaction of a well planned evening ahead and the lazy joy that someone else will be doing the washing up. I’m definitely getting old.

In fact I’ve spent a lot of time recently conversing with people down the phone, mostly without the sinking feeling of dread that used to accompany the thought of such activities. I’ve pleasantly realised that getting over this fear allows me to do business in my pants, an agreeable situation to all who can’t see me doing so. Maybe getting over this feeling is partly wisdom and experience but it’s probably also realising that most of the people on the other end are just folks like my good blogging compadre Moses.

The alien has become the familiar. Not the kind that follows you round in D&D though. Though, thinking about it, that would be awesome; can I get an alien familiar for christmas please?