Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson
He smiled down at me, tall, dark-haired, beautiful eyes, nice teeth (Hey, give me a break. When you live in Britain for two years good teeth stand out on a person.). I summoned my courage to pop the question.
"So, how old are you anyway?"
"23"
And that's when the needle skittered off the proverbial record that provides a constant backing soundtrack to the life of moi.
Yikes - a full decade younger than my humble self. This means he is missing out on everything from 1972-1982, which, admittedly, might not be a bad period of history to skip, fashionwise (remembering wrap dress Mom made me out of terry-cloth here), but still.
It made me feel kind of ... um ... mature. And slightly unsettled. You see, one of the drawbacks of being single in your 30s is that, after a certain point, you have a hard time judging how old a person is. I can usually tell if they are still in the collegiate league, but mid-to-late 20s it gets a bit hazy. You wonder, for instance, if this person who is chatting you up knows what a 401(k) is or how to respond when the car breaks down on the freeway. These are important marks of maturity. Not necessarily the fact that he has a cool camera phone or shops at Abercrombie & Fitch.
*sigh* And so I slip the needle back into a more comfortable groove.
With just a few minor protests from my inner 19-year old.
"So, how old are you anyway?"
"23"
And that's when the needle skittered off the proverbial record that provides a constant backing soundtrack to the life of moi.
Yikes - a full decade younger than my humble self. This means he is missing out on everything from 1972-1982, which, admittedly, might not be a bad period of history to skip, fashionwise (remembering wrap dress Mom made me out of terry-cloth here), but still.
It made me feel kind of ... um ... mature. And slightly unsettled. You see, one of the drawbacks of being single in your 30s is that, after a certain point, you have a hard time judging how old a person is. I can usually tell if they are still in the collegiate league, but mid-to-late 20s it gets a bit hazy. You wonder, for instance, if this person who is chatting you up knows what a 401(k) is or how to respond when the car breaks down on the freeway. These are important marks of maturity. Not necessarily the fact that he has a cool camera phone or shops at Abercrombie & Fitch.
*sigh* And so I slip the needle back into a more comfortable groove.
With just a few minor protests from my inner 19-year old.
posted by Lisa | 12:57 PM
7 Comments:
I think terrycloth wraps are back! At least I saw a terrycloth halter dress the other day at the grocery or somewhere.
Hmmm...ten years. It could work. You're not even in the Demi Moore/Ashton Kutcher range yet, let alone the Harrison Ford/Calista Flockhart disparity.
Eliminate no possibilities prematurely. He may not know who Depeche Mode is NOW, but he could be taught.
Brad - The key words here are "at the grocery or somewhere." :) The thing is, I can remember Mom making a matching set - one for her and one for me.
Katrina - I love your enthusiasm and optimism!
One of my best friends who is 41 got divorced after 4 kids - her husband had a BAD drug addiction. She recently married a man she'd been friends with for 6 years. He's 31 and has been like a dad to her kids for years. She's pregnant and we're all over the moon.
You just don't hear happy stories like that too often.
Anne-
That's great news about your friend. You're right; it's not always the norm to hear a happy ending to a bad situation.
I'll keep an open mind. :)
Wait until you are 40 and it feels really weird. :) I continue to hold out hope, and these little encouraging stories help. :)
Nice blog!
Thank you! Thanks for reading. :)
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