Monday, May 25, 2015

Growing Old

A few nights ago I attended a going away party. One of my wife's coworkers was moving out west in the morning and a shindig was being thrown in her honor. At her parents house. Where she still lived.

Ok, so there's nothing wrong with that. It turns out she is still quite young and the house is quite nice and why wouldn't you take as many massive drags off the parental teet as you can until the support stops flowing because of menopause or whatever? I'm pretty sure that's how bodies work.

Anyway, we arrive and the sound of people leads us around back. There we are met by the guest of honor and it finally clicks who it is. I can never remember any of these peoples names and relationships to my wife. Coworker? Yoga? Fellow MHAAGA (Meat Hater And Anti-Golf Association) member?

In fact, I usually remember her friends and coworkers for random things and none of those random things involve names.

  • There's Boobalicious, The Girl From That Party At The Pizza Place Who May As Well Have Worn A Shirt With Arrows Pointed At Her Tits. She's also Serial Abuser of American Apparel High-Waisted Mom-Shorts Girl.

  • We also have Girl Who Threw The Party I Had To Drive Us 45 Minutes To On A Sunday Night. That's pretty self explanatory.

  • Then Girl Who Dates Or Is Possibly Married To, I Can't Remember For Sure, The Guy Who Looks Like Top Chef's Richard Blais.

  • Black Girl Whose Daughter Sells Cutco Knives. I suppose she's clearly old enough to be called Black Woman Whose Daughter Sells Cutco Knives. I'll make note of that in my binder.

  • New Tall Girl, Pretty, Had Her Boyfriend At That Party With The Cards Of Humanity Knockoff.

  • Jeff? Chris? You Know, The Only Guy Who Works At The Store.

  • Girl With Indian Boyfriend From Canada Or Something Like That, Maybe He Wasn't Indian, I Don't Remember.

And on and on. I do remember a few names of those who I've either been around enough or have some sort of lucky neural pathway connections to remind me.

Anyway, as we said hello and I thought "ohhhh, this is who's leaving" she offered us a drink. We chose red wine and after standing around drinking it for a few minutes I couldn't help but feel like I'd had the wine before but couldn't decide what I thought it might be. It was tasty. So I went inside to take a peek, and let's be honest here, pour another glass. I mean, I'd been at this party for like, 5 minutes already. It was time for another drink.

I make my way into the kitchen and locate the wine, which I've never had before. So don't go entering me in any sommelier contests any time soon. But while there I got to talking with this girl's mother and father. Who were delightful lovers of good red wine, good bourbon, steak, and curse words. Then, as if they were lobbying for my endorsement, they brought out an unopened bottle of tequila a "rich family" in Mexico had produced and given to them during a business trip.

It also was tasty.

And later I'd find myself realizing that, for the first time in my life, the words "your friend's party was fun. We should see if her parents want to hang out" almost came out of my mouth.

I guess I'm finally growing old.

As two of the greatest poets of my generation wrote:

"Fat titties turn to teardrops as fat ass turns to flab
Sores that was open wounds eventually turn to scab
Trees bright and green turn yellow brown
Autumn called 'em, see all them leaves must fall down, growin' old

- Outkast

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