So, Max & I goes to a blues show the other night. It's Sue Foley. It's in the "Ukrainian Labour Temple". Not knowing anything about the location or organization [or, uh, bothering to Google it], my brain is grappling with the notion of those three words cobbled together [yes, I know I'm sitting at a computer. Shut up. Look it up yourself and flame me in the comments. I find it more fun to grapple with that combination of words]. It is in a - hmm how shall I say... - "challenged" part of town. (I find myself pleased that we park behind a Lexus, because it makes our modest little Camry seem like less of a target)
Not the point. The show is awesome. What an amazing guitarista. Vocalist. Band. All of it. I want to buy a CD (or some), but decide I'm too drunk to make a decision and should just buy one on-line. [No, I haven't done it yet].
Also not the point. We are *among* the youngest there. The actual youngest are notable in that they are very "active" i.e. dancing. Not that there's anything wrong with that. That's just distinctive about them. They *really* like the blues - enough to hang out with folks who are decidedly not their crowd. We're still at the lower end of the bell curve. Several standard deviations south of the median age.
Also, not exactly the point - but getting closer. The point: There is a bar [OK, that's not the point - we are getting there]. The bar is at the back and on the other side of the room. Max gets up several times - mostly at the start and early part of the show to get us some drinks [most of our marital roles have more to do with who's least lazy about a particular task than anything gender-defined - I happen to be most lazy about a LOT]. The last time, during the set break, he sits down and puts my drink down in front of me.
"Man" he says. "It's like running the gauntlet to get that drink"
"What? Why?" Says me.
"The ladies. At this age, they don't even pretend to be subtle anymore."
"Oh, whatEVER!" [Yes, schmoopsie. You're desirable.]
(Not even cracking a smile) "Oh no. I'm not imagining this."
"Yeah? Ask BJ" Coworker/friend of mine. Essentially the same age as us.
"Oh, he'll agree, so no. I don't have to." So I shake my head [again: whatever] & lean across to talk to my boss's wife. Seconds later, Max whacks me in the shoulder. I turn around to see BJ with eyes wide open, howling with laughter.
"OH Yeah! NO doubt!!!" says BJ. It was literally seconds. No time for a set up. Not really Max's style either. Nor BJ for that matter. Both middle-aged Mennonite boyz [honest & honourable]
"I knew I wasn't wrong. I just needed to prove it to her" says Max. [Follow: lots of shared banter between Max & BJ about being just "meat" - not even "fresh meat" - about the desirability of not having to dial 911 for when they're "done"... etc - I go back to my boss's wife and continue an intelligent conversation about Sue's gorgeous knee-length leather boots...]
The boots in the photo above? They're sitting in the row next to us. Probably jumped out of the Lexus. I hope I never have to drive a Lexus.
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Your post should come with that rowrrr! cat sound. I laughed when Lemon on 30 Rock just said "cat sound!" instead of going "rowrrr!".
ReplyDeleteI don't think it's just an age thing, you have to figure that these predatory women must be unattached if they're on the prowl, right? And why are they unattached? Because no guy in his right mind wants to spend any time with them!
I didn't know it at the time, but women destined for this behaviour can be predicted at much earlier ages, generally by their kookiness.
It might be little more than a hunch when they're 20, but by the time they're 40 the necklines are plunging deeper (although when they were younger they kept it buttoned up pretty tight), they start wearing knee-high boots with 3 inch heels, and they vow they'll wear a bikini in public (for the first time since they were 12). (I'm not talking about who you think I'm talking about here, but I do have a former colleague of yours in mind!). There's usually a whiff of desperation clinging to them, and they all seem to have three or more cats at home.
But, face it, your hubbie's boyish good looks mark him as quite a catch in any crowd, right? I'm sure he's propositioned everywhere he goes!
"cat sound" I like that. It reminds me of "kiss noise!" from - guessing here - Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the movie - I'll be in a cold, cold grave before I accept Sarah Michelle Geller as Buffy. At least I can name her. Don't know who IS my Buffy).
ReplyDeleteAs for the rest. I think you may be confusing a predatory feline with a northern diving bird that sits very low to the water (spots on its back?).