Limbo was a hugely popular game at parties in the 60’s and countless kids parties since… and here’s a weird fact – it originated in Trinidad and Tobago!
I never liked it, even as a child I found the whole “How low can you go” too hurty. Much like high jump, only in reverse…both annoying when not particularly flexible or tall like me. I’d rather get loose on the dance floor any day.
Who can forget the one smug girl at the party that had been doing gymnastics F-O-R-E-V-E-R who always got the lowest? Am I the only one that didn’t know where to look when she was bent so far backwards that the only body part protruding was her little lady bulge? That’s not right.
I find myself in the middle of another game of limbo… this one a more adult, kind of scary, non-party variety.
Close to finishing my long time radio job and searching desperately for my next job I now find myself stuck in a slightly terrifying and awkward position.
Some fun ways I’ve been passing the excess of time in my current game of limbo include:
• Applying for jobs I’m not qualified for (example: milk delivery driver – …hey… at least I could call myself ‘Milkman-dy’… boom tish)
• Opening the fridge – shutting it only when it beeps.
• Sitting on the end of my bed staring at the floor for long periods of time pondering the benefits of short pile carpet.
• Talking to strangers
• Drinking tea.
• Opening the fridge – wishing there was more cheese
• Stressing about the future
• More tea.
Talking to a lovely old stranger, while walking my dog yesterday, I learned she was experiencing adult limbo too… waiting to see if her little 4 year old Terrier would make it through the night after a debilitating tick bite. Poor love, she was distraught with waiting and worry.
Adult limbo is a game we all play, all the time – in big and small ways.
Eventually it does end and the broom gets put back in the cupboard until the next time. So I think the best thing to do is grab a cube of cheese (and a tiny pickled onion if that’s your thing), watch the bendy girl win AGAIN, wait until someone cranks the music and do the best Nutbush at the party (without showing anyone your lady bulge).