I was just eating lunch with Mr. G at a little tavern by our office. We were sitting outside on their sidewalk patio when this guy who was waiting for the bus came and stood about 2 feet from us and then proceeded to smoke a cigarette. I am never particularly interested in sharing someone’s cigarette with them. But for some reason, today, I was totally repulsed by the whole thing. Maybe because it’s hot. Maybe because I was eating lunch. I dunno. But it was G.R.O.S.S. and I was waving my napkin about trying to fan the smoke out of my face and getting more and more irritated by the second. If I had paid more attention I would know if Mr. G was embarrassed to be seen with me making a big fuss like that. But I was too busy ranting about how smoking in public should be banned altogether and mentally chastising the guy with the cigarette.
And that’s when it occurred to me. The last few days have been all about the universe reminding me that I am solidly in the Mom years. In my 20’s I wouldn’t have liked the cigarette in my face. But I wouldn’t have been all drama-prohibition about it. I mean…get a few beers in me and I would have been asking him for one. So, you know, what goes around comes around.
Seconds later I realized that the two beautiful teen aged girls who just passed by us on the sidewalk were none other than two girls I used to baby sit. When they were, you know, BABIES.
The other day I was making a breakfast casserole - at 11:30 on a Saturday night no less - when I ran out of eggs. I had to run to the nearest gas station convenience store for eggs. At the register the guy in line behind me said, "So are you making midnight omlettes or going egging?" And for like 30 seconds I thought he meant dying Easter Eggs.
And then yesterday I had this actual conversation in my head while surveying the other patrons in line with me at the sandwich place:
“Self, it’s funny that you don’t know where Moorehead College is. There are always so many people wearing t-shirts from there. It must be near here. Or a really big school. It seems like there are a lot of Alumni from Moorehead.”
Wait for it…
“OH! Heh. That’s funny.”
I’m not sure that I was ever cool. Not effortlessly anyway. I’m certainly not socially incompetent. But cool? Eh. Probably not. But lately I am the antitheses of cool. In our new car I keep the satellite radio on Radio Disney, even when my kids aren’t in the car. Mr. G’s list of stations either make my head hurt, or make my ears bleed, or make me terrified to raise teenagers. I swear to God I heard a song the other day that started out like a really nice love song about how the singer wasn’t like all those other guys. He was going to treat his girl right, respect her, be faithful, etc. And in the part of the song that “features” someone else - in this case someone who sounded drunk - it went on to describe his favorite pair of her see thru panties. Wha? I mean, I’m not going to tell a girl she can’t have some see thru panties. But it seems to me like a song about a wholesome, respectful, long-term relationship would wax poetically about something other than skankwear.
SEE. I’m such a MOM. I say things like, “Oh my goodness!” And, “What a nice young man.” And “Please be a listener and make good choices.” (I say that last one a lot, in fact.) I drink lemonade without any booze in it on Saturday nights. I always have Kleenex in my purse. I bring things like homemade pasta salad to BBQ’s instead of a bag of Doritos. I prefer flats. I have mom hair. And I actually need the underwire in my underwire bra.
This is SO weird to me. I'm not sure I'm Ok with it.