ALL ABOUT WAITING

It starts before you are born. You marinate nine months waiting to make your debut. A long succession of ‘waits’ follow.
You wait to begin crawling. When that is accomplished, you can’t wait to walk in order to stop doing a snake act on your belly.
You wait to begin talking. All this time you are saying words that nobody seems to understand. It’s very frustrating. You wait to grow teeth so you can get away from a restrictive liquid and pablum diet.

You wait for your first day in school. You hope it’s your last as mommy dries your tears. You wait for your first pair of long pants and presto – it finally comes and somehow arrives two inches too long. You’ve never been closer to heaven even though you trip over your long pants and have to wear a cast for six weeks. It’s a small price to pay for a brand new macho image.

You wait for your first date at five years old. She does not show up on account of German measles. You wait for her to get better.
You wait for your first drive out to the country. You know you are there because you see your first cow. It rains, you can’t wait to go home.

You wait to pass each class grade and manage it only by holding your breath long enough while looking at your classmate’s paper.
You wait for your teacher’s blouse to drop just a wee bit lower. It never does. You wait to grow up so you can ask her to marry you. She does not wait. You wait for your first meaningful affair. On consideration, you don’t care it is meaningful.


You can’t wait to shave. When the great day arrives, you get busy covering your face with every band-aid in the house.
You can’t wait to leave home and hearth and join the ranks of the free, only to discover that the price of freedom comes high. You can’t wait to move back home.

You can’t wait to join the army and soon become acquainted with the word queue. You form lines for chow, dress parades, route marches, quartermaster handouts, and the wet canteen. You can’t wait to wet your palate. You can’t wait to get into action. When the shells start poring in, you can’t wait to get out into civvy street.

You can’t wait to open up a bank account. You then wait to draw some money out so you can take your girl out to a fine restaurant. You wait thirty minutes before you are noticed and then wait 60 minutes to be served. You can’t wait to get home when you discover your bill to be heavier than your pocket book.

You wait for a job. You wait for advancement. You find that your junior has become your senior by simply marrying the president’s daughter. You can’t wait to tell the boss off. He can’t wait to fire you.

You can’t wait to marry, You wonder if you will ever work up enough nerve to pop that all-important question. Just before finally popping, your throat constricts and she poses the question instead. You nod your head. You wait to have children. You then try to out-wait your wife at three in the morning as lusty wails are heard.

You wait at red lights, at store checkouts, for busses, and you wait at gas pumps. You can’t wait to trade in your eight-year-old car.
You wait in movie, theatre and concert lines. You wait in bakery shops, hardware shops, and at prescription counters and in front of the only bathroom in your apartment.

You can’t wait for your children to grow up and marry. You’re tired of waiting in front of that one damn bathroom.

You finally mature. You stop waiting. You decide to take each day one at a time and treasure it.

So what are you waiting for? This article or what ever else you want to call it is finished.