The Strange Case Of Benjamin Buttface

It used to be a funny subject on which me and my friends humoured about. But deeply, we hoped that it wouldnt happen to us. Most of us had that moment where we were hangin at the pub, late, and planning a last stunt to pull waiting for the dawn to come. And we watched our peers go home. Some of them did it because thy were in one of THOSE relationships, the ones where you enter as a normal person and suddenly become a lethargic creature that barely leaves the house out of some sort of sense pof duty but would really like more to stay in and watch tv with your Insignificant Other. But a lot of them did it because something in them was changing. They were Aging. Getting old.

And we made fun, mostlyt cause some of us were older than them but still enjoyed life, so we wanted to live and do stuff, and we agreed that it was the right thing to do.

But time went by. We got soul crushing jobs. We drank too much. We saw our dreams fade away in disappointment. Some got married, other got kids. And many blamed the changed on the spouses or the kids, because they didnt want to admit that it was their soul that got old and broken on their own. Where if they wanted to, they couldve stayed in loved with life, even with kids and ordinary lives. Some managed to pull that off.

But others didnt. And they started to turning into their own parents, complaining about the tiny things like angry curmudgeons. Making fun of others when they had passions, interests or anything that isnt consodered "serious" or "mature". Telling the people that once were their friends that they should "get their lives together and grow up". Being full of moral disdain out of things that really didnt bother them before. Violence in movies. Loud music. And using their kids as a shield to complain obsessively. They werent like that, and they got worse m,ore out of frustration and anger and bitterness. But no, its "because having kids changes you".

And then they started thinking about the retirement age. How they might not be able to retire in the future. Not about the need of finding a good job, a good house, love and a satisying sexual life. About retirement. And you hear them in bars at the early morning or at work, coimplaining about their small, insignificant hypocondriac illnesses, forgetting that there's people figting for survival everyday. Because their back hurts and its ok to complain about your back if you're old.

Old, before their thirties. Ready to die.