LEARNING AT THE POTTER'S WHEEL

Duke took me out to eat last night. He even arranged a sitter for the kids. We seldom go places together without the kids, so this was strangely pleasant. It didn’t even matter that the hostess said we would have to wait 40 minutes for a table. For me, it’s a wonderful thing to be able to sit and converse without worrying about the time. So we sat and tried to remember how to converse without children in tow.

*sound of clock ticking*

Okay, so failing to think of anything interesting to say to each other, we began to people watch and listen to snippets of conversation.

The hostess standing next to us looked to be around 20 or so – college age. I based this on the fact that she was wearing the restaurant’s uniform in such a way that revealed she had completed her development, *eye roll* and she had quite a collection of hair product and cosmetics that she seemed to be using all at once. In addition to this, she was working in a place that had a liquor license and discussing her studies. She mentioned that she was majoring in architectural design. She also mentioned in passing to someone else that she didn’t date 16-year-olds. ?? I figured she was around the same age as our oldest son.

The manager came over to check on things. The employees began to discuss age. Keep in mind, Duke and I are old enough to be the parents of most of these individuals.

Manager (shaved bald, hints of grey showing, mid to late 30s)

“How old do you think I am?”

Waiter: “Oh, around 41”

Me: looking around at the manager and trying to suppress a chuckle unsuccessfully.

Hostess (thinking she understood my laughter): “Yeah! He’s not OLD!”

Me: making sucking in air noises as I gasp at 41 being considered old

Hostess (now looking at me): “What? You’re not 41!”

Me (remembering 41 and laughing): “No, I’m not.”

Duke was enjoying the whole thing a little too much so I turned to look at him (cowboy hat, boots & all). “Well, if 41 is OLD, should I go and get the wheelchair out of the car so we can move you to the table when it’s time? You must be nearing relic status by now.” Duke just continued to giggle.

Hostess (trying to defend her view): “Well, you have to understand that for someone MY age, 41 IS old.”

Duke (laughing): “Weeeell, just remember, we WERE your age once.”

Hostess: “Yeah.”

When we got seated at our table, we were still chuckling about how we were relics and needed to go to the relic section. The waitress that seated us asked who said it. We said that the hostess, the college student majoring in architectural design, had made the comment. To which the waitress made a snorting noise and said, “SHE’s not a college student! She goes to the local high school. She’s SIXTEEN!”

So, we sat there – two OLD people – and did our best to chew our food with our remaining teeth.

Afterwards, we went to the local drive-in eatery to indulge in another rare treat, frozen coffee. As we waited for our order, we began to notice the current fashion trends.

Nothing much has really changed. The girls still spray paint on their jeans and tug at their t-shirts to pull them down over their low riders. I wonder if they know that used to be all the rage 30 years ago? It was sweater and jacket weather, but they were too cool (literally) to be bothered with something that would take away from their outfits. *eye roll*

The guys were a study. Apparently, the same ripped jean look that we used to think looked very stylish (maybe to refugees) is in vogue again. Only now, the jeans have a crotch that is no longer located at crotch level – more at the knees. The guys DID have enough sense to wear jackets, though. I looked at Duke and said, “Their mama’s didn’t see them before they left the house.” Duke chuckled and replied, “Think so?”

THEN we saw HIM. You could tell by his confident swagger that HE was the one all the guys wanted to be and the girls wanted to date – but that’s the ONLY thing that gave it away. He was wearing a jacket and a normal shirt, but normal ended there. He was wearing thin cotton SHORTS (temperatures were in the mid 50’s). Not just any shorts, though. These shorts were GIANT PLAID on a white background. Seriously, it looked like he had time-traveled back to the 1950s and stolen them off of a giant tourist. I say giant because these things were proportioned strangely. The waist seemed to fit, but the rear pockets hit somewhere below his rear end and the crotch (again) was near his knees. The hem of the shorts fell at mid-calf. No socks.

What would have been a reason to hide for anyone of my generation was worn with pride by this young man. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “What? Didn’t his mother see him before he left the house?” asked Duke. “No,” I replied, “His mama doesn’t even LOVE him to make him wear THAT.” “Maybe he’s going to stay at a friend’s house,” offered Duke. “No,” I disagreed, “He doesn’t have any friends. If he did, they would not let him wear those.”

Mr. Cool continued to walk from car to car and greet his fawning subjects as we drove away laughing at how out of touch we are.