The Nine Phases of Adultery/oops Adulthood

black coffee

With thanks to Mitch Teemley

A spoof on adulthood with apologies to William Shakespeare


All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man/woman in his/her time plays many parts,

His acts being nine ages.

At first the arrogant know it all of the 20’s. Bragging profusely and entitled to the best of everything. Inheritor of nothing, expecting everything.

And then the world wise 30’s always available by cell phone, avoiding marriage but just living together. Uncommitted.

The 40’s bring children, married or not. More money, more of everything, more than the Jones’s– family a show piece, acknowledged when able to break away from meetings. Mortgages, cars, big house, wishing time would allow more love and peace.

Come the 50’s exulting in success, self-adulating, Children off to Harvard enjoying money and status. On wife/ husband #2/3/4. Wishing for old love, should be happy but something missing.

The 60’s enter with shock, memory a little off, aches and pains when working out. Gym daily to get rid of paunch. Maybe face lift, hair dye. Still got it!

The 70’s are the new 60’s! Time isn’t passing…it can’t be. Grandfather/mother not possible! Child in 30”s living at home not working. Knee replacement coming up. Gave up gym membership. Maybe I’ll retire….next year.

The “I don’t give a damn 80’s” arrive and the whole government is lunatic! Read what? Facebook? That cell phone makes no sense. Text. Sure I can write….on paper. This is not a cane…it is a walking stick. Drs appoints get in the way of my naps. I’ve still got it!

I made it! 90! Living the life. Have several girlfriends/boyfriends here in the retirement village. Who cares about the rest of the world! It can go to#####.

The hearse pulls away and many tears fall from friends. Many relatives are already dead. Wish I could do it all again.


Flash Fiction Challenge –the Mirror

Challenge from the Fractured Faith Blog.

The window of the train reflects my image like a mirror. It is not the same image I saw before I left home. This image is distorted and out of focus. So is my life. Yesterday was the end of “me.” I have no framework for my life now. It all ended in the mirror. I watched it break as my husband shattered it with his hand. He missed me and hit the mirror. The shock of it make him back away and look at his hand. Blood was seeping from the small cuts. He turned, walked from the room. I heard the creak on the stairs as he headed downstairs and out the door. My shock over the last few moments left me sitting just staring at the mirror. The reflection in the glass was as broken as was my life. I knew it was over and moving on was my only choice. Now I look out the window on the train and know that the distortion is my life now. I drop the train ticket from my hand. It’s over.