I Need a Denture Cream Coupon, Please
I am very accustomed to always being the youngest person around.
I was the youngest in my graduating high school class.
I was the youngest in nearly all of my college classes.
I was the youngest manager at the department store I worked in during and after college.
I was the youngest consultant on nearly every project I worked on when I played the ERP consultant game.
I'm not consistently the youngest anymore. It's . . . weird.
As if I need reminded that I'm no longer the baby all the time, lately life has been smacking me in the face with the Dude, You're Old Stick.
First I spent Saturday night at the Secret Agent L reveal shindig. Within minutes of walking through the door, I was all, "OMG. I am OLD." It was easily 8213532423 degrees in that place. Or maybe that's how many beads of sweat ran down my back as I stood talking to some of my favoritest people. Either way, it was HOT HOT HOT HOT. Just thinking about it makes me think I should go take a nap. Because I'm old. And then there was the music. Wait, no, that should say and then there was THE MUSIC. It was louder than an army of toddlers smacking on an plethora of drumsets while screaming Wheels on the Bus. I complained about how it was too loud for me to be able to hear the people I badly wanted to talk to, the people who were standing RIGHT NEXT TO ME, at least 5,000 times. Because I am old. So GET OFF MY LAWN.
Then, on Sunday, Alexis decided it would be a good idea to turn me into a cripple. It wasn't that she took a hammer to my knees, but she probably should have. It would have been faster. Instead, she played and played and played in her pool. Her splashing poison of choice was to run from the yard and leap into the air, landing with a giant splash in her shallow little pool. Landing with a giant splash on her knees, that is. She did it over and over and over, laughing her little butt off every single time she smacked down hard on her legs. I swear I can't walk today and all I was doing was watching her have fun.
Then today. Oh, today. Taco Bell? YOU ARE NOT MY FRIEND. I've been yearning for a Taco Bell bender since Saturday when @JanePitt just had to go and mention the place. Today for lunch I finally found my way there. I rolled into the drive thru and ordered the same thing I've been ordering since I was in high school--a bean burrito plus sour cream and minus onions. I haven't had one in probably a year . . . or perhaps longer. There was a time when it was my go-to lunch of choice because it's really hard to eat that cheap. Except, it wasn't that cheap. I'm used to paying a little over $1 for my dreamy Taco Bell lunch, but not today. Today? $1.81. For a burrito. ONE BURRITO! I stared at the receipt in complete dismay that I had spent so much money on something so simple (and slightly disgusting). It turns out that while the burrito is still $.99, the sour cream now will cost you an arm, a leg, and $.70. $.70! Why, back in my day, that crap only cost $.25! And it was uphill! Both ways!
I'll never be able to afford my hearing aids, denture adhesive, and knee replacements if I keep spending a small fortune on sour cream.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Reader Comments (24)
Plus, that picture is awesome.
And now, I hate you because I'm craving Taco Bell.
I'll join you in something fun for young people, like a chess game (yeah, that's a fun game, right?) as soon as I get all the creaks and cracks out of my back, and rub on some Bengay, clean my glasses, and put on some classical music.
Wait. Maybe I should... Nevermind.
(All above actions could be held as true needs at the moment, though I will say, I do still enjoy plenty of "heavy" and "alternative" music, with the caveat that "heavy" and "alternative" are used as they were meant, oh, about 15 years ago.)
And you know how you know your're old? You can hurt yourself sleeping.
But, funny story, I refuse to take the boys to our city pool this year. Not because of cleanliness issues (it really is a great, clean pool). Not because I'm scared of drowning. It's because the music is too loud. I can hear it, clearly, at the ball field when I'm shooting a game. My ears bleed at the thought.
Old.
(I'm also always the youngest. Hi!)
Then suddenly, I wasn't the youngest. Suddenly co-workers didn't get my references (like Seinfeld jokes) not because they were old and unhip but because they were too young and didn't catch that re-run. Argh.
Fortunately, my last job made me feel young again - working in the executive office of allegheny county DHS made me the youngest again. But then I became a stay at home mom in a suburb full of SAHMs. I am find myself the oldest in the room a lot of times. My "Look kids! Parliment! Big Ben" received confused glances at one another like perhaps the oldster was having a mini-stroke instead of the expected laughter. I was talking with a small group of women that I think of as my friends and think of as my age. I was referring to another woman who is new to our community and said twice that she was really young (she is 26ish). They all finally looked at each other and reminded me that they are all barely 30 and didn't consider her particularly young.
Hand me my cane...I need to go out in my housecoat and chase the kids off my lawn.
Just a little advice from one old lady to another. :)
The amazing part is that you were still willing to be within 400 yards of me after smelling me that one fateful day . . .
Ah, I remember Taco Bell in college. You could really eat "well" for a couple of bucks.
If I ate that burrito it would go straight to my pouch tummy and tire thighs, so you can't be older than me.
Second, I know I say that a lot. I blame the memory.
Third, now you know why I've been whining about my age for so long. It only gets worse. While everything was uphill both ways earlier, it's now downhill. And you sag as you go.
And what ever happened to the ole 59, 79, 99 menu at T.B.? Geez.