Expired in Writing

I always know my birthday is nearing when it’s the expiry date stamped on the milk. Not that it reaches its sour end in my home with the lavish pouring over cereal each morning.

All good things come to an end though: special offers, movie tickets, parking meters, memberships, perishables, medicines, perfumes, friendships, contracts and passports. Some expiry dates we read with necessity, others we turn a blind eye to and some we ponder on the missed opportunity to see that Gold Class movie we never ended up using, or gym membership we didn’t really complete.

In my life I am currently grappling with some friendships and interests that may have met there expiry date and just like the Rev that begins to whiff around the edges so does my connection to the above. The slight hint of being ‘off’ is a prelude to the offensive odour that will hit me after expiry. Expiration is the end but sometimes the thought of wasting the opportunity to experience it is enough to halt its demise.

Often we are oblivious to the small purple or black print on our expendable goods and services. A written code that says enjoy me now before it’s too late doesn’t always catch our eye. But today I got great pleasure in pulling out a just about to expire voucher. Phew – better book that massage. And for the record, age-wise I am still very much in date.