Old as dirt
I was in a bar the other night. I was there because it was actually a Tavern/Steakhouse and nothing else was still open by the time we woke up and got around to go try to find some food. It was the first time I have been inside a bar in probably close to eight years or so. I’m not a prude or a puritan. I don’t have anything at all against drinking. As a matter of fact, Stace and I have done some serious boozing in our day. I mean serious boozing. Really. You’d be shocked… or impressed depending on your point of view.
But we just don’t drink anymore. I’m not sure when we quit. I know it was years and years ago. It wasn’t a conscious decision or anything. At least not on my part. I’ll have to ask Stace if it was on hers, but I don’t think it was. Maybe it was though as Stace seems to make many many more conscious decisions than I do, but I digress. She really does though. I am often amazed at the things she thinks about. And the number of decisions she makes — on purpose. About all sorts of things that would never even enter my head. Sorry, still digressing.
The point is we don’t drink anymore. Almost never. Certainly nothing like what we did back in the day. And I think that’s the answer to the whole question right there — back in the day. How the hell did I get old enough to have an “in my day” yard-stick in my head? When did this happen? Did it just creep up on me or did it happen over night when I wasn’t looking? And why did we stop boozing it up? And when? I can’t remember exactly.
I guess we just sort of out-grew the drinking. At some point we realized drinking and driving really wasn’t a very good idea. And that meant we didn’t go out unless we could call a cab. Oh lord! We grew up enough to quit drinking and driving. And that was years and years ago. Then the hang-overs got worse. Much worse. Suddenly, the thought of the morning after made the idea of the night before not terribly appealing. I remember uttering god-forsaken phrases like, “Nah… I have to go to work in the morning.”
Am I as old as dirt now? Possibly. I don’t want to be old. Well that’s not true, I do want to be really old. Like so old you can go around saying whatever you want and nobody can say anything cause you’re so old. If you’re that old, you can walk up to some kid walking down the street and tell him to pull up his pants because he looks ridiculous and add something like, “You don’t want those pants to fall off and pull your underpants off with them, do you? Everyone will see your little wiener.”
Or in the bank walk up to the snooty church deacon’s wife — who thinks her family is local Royalty — and say loudly, “Betty Lou, I sure was happy to hear that Mindy Sue had gotten married recently. You must be so pleased. Did her new husband make her quit working? I would think it would be hard on a man to let his new wife continue being a whore. But then these are modern times. Maybe he doesn’t mind. And I’ve always heard she makes real good money on payday out at the factory. Well, give them my best.”
You have to admit it will be pretty sweet to be really really old. I’m just not too thrilled with this mid-ling old business.