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Clearly my time has come and gone

I’ve mentioned this before. My Honey is a musician. He knows many other musicians in town. That means, on any given weekend night, he knows several bands playing, generally in some stinky old bar. This weekend was no different.

Both of our kids spent the night away from home – one had a slumber party and the other at a friend’s house. My Honey and I went to a grown up movie – one with no animation in sight. Not that I don’t love animation, but sometimes it’s nice to have actual actors. We saw Lone Survivor. Wow – that is one heavy movie. I really just wanted to hug people after wards.

Anyway, afterwards he innocently suggests we go see our friend’s band play.

“Sure,” I say, cause we hardly ever get to go out. Still, I did say it with reservation. I was wearing an ancient pair of blue jeans that are a size or so too big, but they’re super-duper comfortable. A black 3/4 sleeve t-shirt with beading and embroidery – a very mom-like shirt. A denim jacket with Eeyore stitched on the back. My author-esqe eye glasses. And, the piece de resistance, my Birkenstocks.

so tragic

so tragic

The band in question is an 80’s cover band. It may very well be 2014 but, my friends, the ladies in the bar last night were taking the music very seriously. Clothes were TIGHT and short and low-cut, and the heels were epically high.

I totally blended right in.

All I really took away from the night was that I still know all the lyrics to the hair band songs of the 80’s and I’m very old.

It also became clear that I never need to hear another cover version of a bad Bon Jovi song ever again.

Also, Birkenstocks may be the most comfortable shoes ever, and my plantar fasciitis thanks me every day when I wear them, but they are tragically not cool.

 

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