Why do I always get asked for directions? It happens several times a week.

Is this train going east? Is this the Sidney Smith building? How do I get to the Kensington Market? (The last question was just this afternoon — and yes, I knew where it was….just over that way a bit.)

Why do I eat eat candy when I know it makes me feel unwell every time. There is no time eating candy does not result in some type of distress. Sometimes mild, sometimes not-so mild, but always there. (I am eating Bottle Caps as I type.)

Why have I not implemented a proper filing system for all my paperwork. A box under my desk and a basket on my credenza do not count as a system. (At least it’s hidden away. My mess is secret yet intense.)

Why do I continue to exchange pleasantries with my rather chilly neighbour in the elevator. (Exchange, of course, is the wrong word as that would involve some level of reciprocity from Ms. Frosty Pants.)

Why do I read books — lots of them — that are not on my must-read list for my book clubs. (I do need to read a few within the next month, yet I put them off, despite the fact that I will probably enjoy them.)

Why is everything in my living room a shade of brownish/beige/cream. (It is soothing and I like to relax at home, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t buy some pillows that are not — well — not off-whitish. (Would blue kill me? Red?)

Well, why?

I know, I know, writing about how times have changed is so cliche. Things change. They get better, they get worse. They get better again and the next thing you know neon is back in style.

But something that happened this weekend that made me think that things really are different now.

The place: a subway car in the downtown core.
The time: about 9:30 pm on a Saturday night.
The scene: three young teenage boys — maybe 15 or 16, no older — dressed in the campiest, most fabulous outfits. These boys were just glamourous. But beyond the outfits — I liked the Barbie necklace on the fellow beside me the best, but the jean short-shorts were awfully cute, too — the boys were so confident, so secure, so happy. There they were chatting away, probably heading somewhere fun. No one on the subway gave them a second glance. Well, I am writing about them — I guess that counts as more than just a second glance.

Yes. Times have changed.

But they also are oddly too much the same for my taste. Case in point: jean shorts and boots. I am spotting this fashion movement all over town.

Yeah, it looks cool, I agree. But my feet are hot in shoes as it is. I can’t even fathom this degree of suffering for fashion. Mind you, this look is pulled off typically by young women who — it would seem — don’t feel the heat the same way someone of my age might.

Mind you, I did see a woman about my age in Joe Fresh — perhaps a bit older — sporting jean shorts, cowboy boots and a huge tattoo on her thigh. (Not the typical Joe Fresh customer, I think.) Now if she can do it, there may be hope for me. I do own cowboy boots and I could own jean shorts in about 5 minutes if I find my big scissors….