Watergate

I have a terrible time remembering how old I am. I was born in ’84 so that would put me at 29 this year but I’m not there yet so I am still 28. Whenever someone asks about my age my mind goes completely blank and my gut reaction is still to say 26. Right. I am sure I could pass for 26 just about as well as I could pass for a PTO mom or a neurosurgeon.

I bring up age for the simple reason that there are days when I feel eons older than I really am. Take Sunday for example, it was comprised of Church, grocery shopping, reading a dreadfully boring book, laundry sorting and a watching a Watergate documentary. Yup. Watergate. So cool.  As if that wasn’t enough to seal the deal on the fact that I am old I was due to attend a gig my brother’s band (The Groove Offensive) had at a restaurant in the heart of Hipsterville, Oklahoma. You would think this would redeem me a bit but you would be wrong. At 9:00 on Sunday night I put my bra back on, yawned, grumbled about missing the last bit of the Watergate documentary, and headed out to the concert… in my mini-van that smells like bad apples and the dried up tears of my hopes and dreams.

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At the concert my fears that I was aging were immediately confirmed. First thoughts: When did these people shower last? Oh fantastic, everyone is smoking. Where are his shoes? If I wanted to see your butt crack I would have asked. Am I up to date on my tetnis shot? Am I to old to be here? I bet her mom doesn’t know about that tattoo.

Then there were the kids (and yes I still think of them as 10 year-olds) that my brother grew up with, all there with beers in their hands and tattoos and hair longer than mine. And you know what? They came over to my mom and I and called us “Ladies”. Ladies. Really. Why don’t you just call me “ma’am” and ask about my great-grandchildren. I’m only four years older than you, punk. To think I left my Watergate documentary to for this.

At least I wasn’t the one with fluorescent ear plugs and new balance tennis shoes. I was just sitting next to her. The chances of me being the only one there in jeans with baby spit up on them were pretty good though. Oh well. You live and you learn and then you give up and start watching Watergate documentaries.

BN

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