You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, eh? Who said that? I’m not an old dog; I’m a wild rose.
This past weekend I had a new experience. Seven women celebrated their 60th birthdays. All were born around the same time. Someone decided to organize one big party at Stonewalls, a neighborhood establishment. The music is good there (I heard). The food is hot and the drinks flow was needed.
In the beginning, the restaurant / drinking hole allocated a space with three or four booths. The number of guests looked to be around 25 people. But that was in the beginning. The invitations said to ‘bring your friends’. By Saturday night, the number had swelled to 60 or so.
Picture this: a bunch of 60-year-olds cramped into a space say 6 ft. by 7 or 8 ft. It made me think of the college or university kids who used to squeeze 50 people into a telephone booth. Remember those days? How about, the number of bodies squeezed into a Volkswagen? Yeah, that’s what it was like except there were no walls or steel frame to hold everyone inside. After all at sixty, you need a little elbow room so you can breathe. Also, not all, but some 60-year-olds (as well us older gals) take up a bit more room than at university or college.
I could hardly make out who was who because the lights were turned down low around 8:00 o’clock. By nine o’clock they were turned down another notch or TEN. Thank goodness all the birthday girls wore hot pink feathered boas. Very helpful for finding them in the dark to wish them happy birthday.
I noticed a lot of groping going on. I couldn’t understand why at first but it was truly innocent. The elder group couldn’t see where they were going so they grabbed whatever they could while fighting the crowd on their way to the bar. It was Saturday night, after all, and super packed. Wall to wall. I also learned it’s hard groping your way back with a drink in your hand. Especially if you don’t want to spill it or you’re ticklish and someone needs to lean on you to find their way back to the table.
Everybody came to hear the band. The misconception was that the band would start at nine o’clock. Wrong. Might I mention it was a YOUNG band but took an hour to setup and stared way after nine. People were looking at their watches. Everyone (those 60 and up) was getting anxious. Ten o’clock came and went. Where had the band disappeared to?
Finally, the music started with a crash of drums and horns and a sax. Those skinny little girls on stage looked no older than fourteen and fifteen. Skinny but with knockers. I couldn’t believe how they could belt out a tune. Wow. They played well and gyrated and slithered better than Cirque de Soleil. And the girls didn’t wear much. I was feeling embarrassed for them.
After one set, the birthday people and their friends disappeared. I hung out with one birthday girl and a younger friend of hers. They wanted to hear another set and we were car-pooling so I stayed too. I admit by 10:00 or so I had started to yawn with the best of them but I’m proud to announce I didn’t get home until 1:30 a.m.
I hoped my daughter would hear me come in and give me hell! No luck.