This past weekend some girlfriends and I descended on Miami University, a barren place now that school has let out, for a bachelorette party. We dined at a restaurant that used to be some of the girls’ favorite bar. No one was carded for drinks.
We went to a bar where we watched the youngest of the group, a 20-year-old, flirt with the military boy of her liking while his two friends flirted (?) with the remaining ten of us.
We went to another bar / dance club with large amounts of smoke blown onto the dance floor and danced, some of us knowing the words to most of the songs. We watched one of the military boy’s friends, newly turned 20 by a matter of minutes, flirt with and grind on one of the girls in our group, complimenting her by thinking her 24 (as opposed to her real 26).
And in the end of the feeling of the night didn’t need a name because it was stamped on our hands, quite literally, as the bar stamp for the “club.”
“What does OLC mean?” one of the girl in our group asked, looking at her hand.
“OLD. Your hand says you are OLD. The D didn’t get stamped on all the way.”
Anonymous
Ya dee da…what a drag it is gettin’ old – Rolling Stones
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Feelin’ old? Feelin’ beaten? Feelin’ tired and feelin’ cheated?
Feelin’ crappy? Gettin’ sassed
because you’re gettin’ a big fat ass?
Welcome, welcome to my world
where the young get to a spittin’.
You’re not so old so quit your fittin’.
When you trapse across the decades, fervent, leave behind something solvent,
Like gobs of putrid, acrid, detestable mutterings that sing like a sure arrow and attacks in the most clear and direct manner possible to the current populus of youth as expressed by their attitude drenched unquanitifiable vigor and in your face flout of all things that are young and good and lasting and look them squarely in the face with your jaw clenched tight and proclaim unto them –
“You’re right! You’re so friggin’ right!! I want to LIVE again!!”
“I…am…so…old.”
…and then curl into the samllest ball possible in the darkest, most isolated part of the room you’re in at that moment, put you thumb in your mouth and commence to weeping. At that moment – at that specific moment look back at the child and say, very quietly but with accute clarity, “this is you’re future.”
Hey, at least you all were being hit on by guys a good stretch younger than you. I’m so old that flirting just looks weird and uncomfortable, something akin to how you might feel if you just realized your breast was exposed at Thanksgiving dinner with your grandparents and you didn’t know about it until much later after wondering why your bald-headed uncle Robert spent the entire day talking to you, leering at you, and following you around like a puppy dog and when you go “EW,” you’ll know what it really feels like to get old.
I’m going to crawl ‘neath my desk now.