Upon occasion I may have mentioned that a few of the boys are in the process of getting divorced, or as one said disengaging from the “rat shit crazy woman I live with.” I am still trying to figure out what that really means, or better yet understand how you come up with that term.
Even better was bearing witness to an argument about whether the term is supposed to be “bat shit” and not “rat shit.” Either way those boys are full of crap.
The joy they tell me in losing a spouse is the fun of seeking a new partner to play with. That is a euphemism for “I really want female companionship” just not one that is legally attached to me.
Anyhoo…A few of them say that they have begun combing through Facebook for old girlfriends or girls that they wish had been more than just friends. In the process they have suddenly discovered a few things, primary among them is that none of us look like we are twenty any more.
In fact they tell me, some of these ladies look like they are middle aged. So while they cackle abou this I gleefully remind them that it goes both ways. “Listen you drunken fools, if we all graduated high school together it means that we are all the same age.”
And they of course appreciate my profundity and share their admiration by bestowing various terms of endearment upon me. Needless to say they were colorful and would have been quite appropriate for use in a Mad Lib designed for adults.
So there we are pointing, clicking and squinting at various pictures. “Can that really be Anna Rachel. It looks like it, but the picture is so small I am not quite sure,” he says. From across the room we hear “take a look at Cindy Bargedorf’s account, it is open.”
And there we see good old Cindy, she who had been exceptionally hot in that girl next door way. The years have been good to her, at least the child bearing years have because she must have 16 children and all that comes with it.
A load groan erupts and before it gets any worse I attempt to be the voice of reason again.”Dude, you have lost half your hair and have grown a bit larger, it is called life.”
Immediately afterwards I duck and those instincts prove to be correct as two or three objects go sailing by the space my head used to occupy.
A short time later the computers are all turned off and we are engaged in a riveting conversation that covers who was with who in high school, why LeBron will leave cleveland and we can’t really be middle aged can we.
Again I insist on reminding the boys that my grandparents are 95, which means that I can’t possibly be middle aged until I am at least half their age. That gives me 7.5 more years.
In the interim I think that I am going to replace all of my Facebook photos with shots of me holding Viagra, Grecian Formula 44 and a Ferrari. That sort of self deprecating humor should serve me well.
Now aren’t you glad that you spent the last three minutes reading this post. 😉