I was faced with my worst fear on Saturday while doing a crossword, talking to my budgie and wearing my puffy animal slippers. I had visions of myself becoming an old maid who welcomes the comfort of my own home and avoids the outside world.
When I eventually get myself away from my anti-social habits, the world will avoid me and people will whisper behind their hands about this old maid who is argumentative, opinionated and pathetic to the younger generation.
As luck would have it, I already have a strong personality that scares other people into agreeing with my opinionated statements and weird theories. It seems like a matter of time before I get myself cats for company, a swing chair for the porch and a hearing aid to listen to the sounds of my own complaining and moaning.
I've always thought that a listening aid would be far more effective for older people who only hear what they want to (the privilege of getting old) and that hearing aids only seem to encourage other people to talk louder and gesticulate wildly. But, I digress with my opinions again?
Oh no it's the big 30!
It all started in the run up to my thirtieth birthday and the sad anticipation of entering my fourth decade.
My presents were two birds (and one died within five days), fridge magnets (full of slogans about age, weight and animals), chocolates (company for weekend nights when everybody else is partying) and shopping vouchers (to give me something to do if I decide to leave the house).
Even the 'safe' present of shopping vouchers has led to the aging fear. At least I will have items to leave to people in my will when they find me in my flat after dying of loneliness.
Yes, it was my choice to stay home on a Saturday and in all fairness, my friends invited me to three parties, but I wanted to read my book. I'm going to grow old with Marian Keyes, Stephen King and Jodi Picoult. Scary combination, but at least I'll have some good laughs.
Then I got invited to a friend's wedding and when I asked if I could take a date, she said I was placed at the 'singles table' where they had organised me company. I had visions of three single women fighting over one man and only leaving his company to wrestle each other for the bouquet. I'm even too old to be a bridesmaid, but I get interrogated by total strangers who want to know if I will ever get married.
I sometimes catch myself complaining about service in restaurants not being what it used to be, talking about the children of today and putting expensive items back on the shelf when I check the price.
Put me out of my misery when I complain about the interest rate and the weather in one sentence while calling politicians idiots without being able to pronounce their names.
Am I really that old already?
When I start using words like 'thrice', 'despicable' and 'lovely' it is time to drown me in the bath. Just as Hugh Grant said 'whoopsie daisy' in Notting Hill, I already catch myself saying things like 'oh shoot', 'truck it' and 'Bob's your Uncle'. Who the hell is Bob anyway?
And finally, when the toilet seat gets covered and trays get doilies, I want to be covered with a white sheet and forgotten.
The only solution to get away from the fear of getting old is to find myself a toy boy to feel me young? I mean to keep me feeling young.
If I have to support him financially for him to support my sagging boob, it is fine. Some youngsters are into that type of thing. As long as he does not call me 'mam' or ask for pocket money.
The good side of ageing alone is that I don't have to complain about my spouse or spend weekends driving kids to parties. I think I'd would rather be with Stephen and other novelists until my eyesight deteriorates?