A few of the students who sit near me were going to review some material on Friday afternoon. They asked me if I wanted to join, which was nice of them, but I had other plans.
Stressbunny #1, curious about what could be more interesting than a Friday afternoon study group, asked me what I was doing.
"Oh," I replied nonchalantly, "I'm going to go see the Dead tonight."
There was a shocked silence as the gathered stressbunnies absorbed that.
Stressbunny #2, bless his heart, protested, "But you're not that old!"
I replied, honestly, that it was my husband who was the big fan, but I always thought the concerts were a lot of fun.
Again, there was a slight pause. Then Stressbunny #1 asked dubiously, "How old is he?"
I explained that he wasn't that old, but that he had got into the Dead as a teenager, when they were already well-established. The concerts are trips down memory lane for us. My husband accompanied me on my nostalgic-oh-Lord-did-I-really-dress-like-that trip to see The Cure, and I go with him to see the Dead, even after St. Jerry moved on to that great big VW bus in the sky.
The stressbunnies registered this, and then Stressbunny #2, trying enthusiastically to bridge the generation gap, nodded knowingly.
"I see," he said sagely. "It's like my little sister. She was born in 1989, but she totally loves 80s music!"
I gravely acknowledged that yes, it might be like that.
3 comments:
Man, I feel ya. On Friday, a girl who sits next to me said, "Ughh... I feel so terrible today." I responded with, "Oh, that's too bad, are you getting sick?" She looked at me with confusion and replied, "umm, no, it's just Friday morning hangover from Thursday night partying." Oh, right. I missed that one. It's been a while since partying on Thursday sounded like something I'd want to do, much less like a good idea. It's the little things that remind me of my age.
*laugh* I think I was internally cringing throughout the entire conversation.
Our "points of reference" sure date us, don't they? My 15-year-old daughter and I went shopping for boots recently. When she suggested I buy a particularly retro-looking pair, complete with 4-inch platform heels, and I opined that they were a little too "Ziggy Stardust" for me, she stared at me blankly until I explained. Just another by-product of aging!
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