It struck me as I was robotically doing my step class this morning that I was surrounded purely by middle-aged women - most with unsightly flab though there were some who looked younger than their years. This fact brought on a rather striking revelation: that someday I will grow old and become one of these women who obsess about how to defy old age and the indefatigable issue of Chicken Wing Skin and Cellulite. Not that I don't already obsess about my body image by hitting the gym every single fucking day except on weekends and even bringing my sneakers to the beach so that I can wake up faithfully at 7.45am and run as fast as the wind can bear me.
In any case, I shall expand upon this disappointing epiphany. There are several things that could happen to me. I could:
a) Work really hard in my youth, accumulate my wealth, spend my savings on luxury items and a gym membership and a personal chef and grow old and die alone but rich in a penthouse in New York (without any pets because I am not very fond of animals). (Quite likely)
b) Not be so lucky in my youth, marry a fuckface whom I despise, bear his children and spend his money on a gym membership and luxury items and the children's education. Throw in a younger boy for good measure. (Not likely)
c) Just wither away after graduating and spend my time trying to pen unsuccessful novels and anthologies about the prospects of spending the rest of my life with an ill cat while working part time at the nearest Starbucks joint and stealing more than one venti skinny extra shot hazelnut latte a day. (Perhaps..)