I am officially old.
I turned sixty a couple of days ago and things have been sliding downhill like an avalanche.
First up was the 4th of July. We live in an unincorporated area (no city limits) so it is legal to set off anything smaller than an ICBM out here, any hour of the day or night. I used to find it amusing, now I complain like an old woman about “those durned kids and their noisemakers!”
Yup, I’m old.
Then it got hot. Real hot. I used to enjoy summer, now it is just sweat season. Flop sweats like a drug addict. God, I WISH I had some drugs, at least I would have a reason besides being ancient for looking like someone turned a hose on me. Oh how I wish someone would turn the hose on me.
Along came my birthday – the big six-oh. We have a tradition of getting Chinese food on my birthday but this year, it turned on me like a rabid monkey. I should have known things were not going to go well when the food clerk was surly. Like Soup Nazi surly. I asked if they could split the rice portion into half plain, half fried, which they’ve always done when I ordered in the past.
Ummm, OK. Yikes. Then she asked if I wanted egg roll or crab rangoon, another surprise since the dinner used to include both. “I don’t get both?”
So I took both covered containers, filled with all fried rice, a single egg roll and a bag containing separately purchased crab rangoons and headed home.
It was awful.
The crab rangoons had the tiniest portion of cream cheese/crab meat mixture that can be measured by humans, surrounded by fried-to-the-chewiness-of-drywall wrappers. The vegetables had the consistency and flavor of slugs. That wasn’t the worst of it though, because before long came the abdominal distress. (Trying to be polite here.) Let’s just say I have empathy for Al Roker now (if that confuses you, Google the term “shart.”)
Oh Lord, the rumbling and grumbling from our intestinal tracts was louder than the fireworks on the 4th of July.
Ah, but in the middle of it all – between the war zone explosions and the bad Chinese food, our eldest son got married. And it was fabulous. His new bride is an amazing woman who loves to laugh as much as I do. My son, who has investigated our genealogy to discover deep Irish roots, decided to wear an Irish kilt for his marriage. So of course everyone wondered….was he wearing anything under his tartan skirt? Which led to this most wonderful wedding photo of all time.