I helped Alice clean out her closet. She has a Grown-Up Job, so we weeded out lots of suits that were at the height of fashion in 1998. However, as with any good closet cleaning, there were items that were not up for discussion.
The most notable of these items was her favorite sweatshirt evah – a sweatshirt from her sorority’s hayride, circa 1993.
She likes to wear it around the house and to walk the dog. It’s totally broken in and fabulous. What’s not to love? I had no qualms with this sweatshirt – until she made a very honest and painful point.
“Me wearing this shirt in public would be like some loser wearing a hayride 1978 shirt when we were in school. We would have made merciless fun of them.”
Gulp. So true.
She kept the shirt, but vowed that it would never again leave the privacy of her home. I sort of laughed it off. But this morning, I finally got around to changing the month on the calendar at my desk. My alumni association calendar that features photos from the campus of my dear old alma mater.
I have no fucking clue where the photo for February was taken on campus.
It’s some new dorms, and I think they are where a parking lot used to be, back in my day. But I’m not totally sure.
I’m not quite sure when I got so old. But I’m not sure I care.
More and more, I’m finding that I just don’t give a shit. I’m starting to do all those things that I found so wholly embarrassing in my parents when I was a teenager. I look dumb. I sing in public. And my greatest delight in life is Mr. Wonderful’s insistence on ninja kicking the air in front of automatic doors.
Next time I’m on my college campus, I’ll wander around like an idiot until I find the new buildings from the calendar. And I’ll probably tell anybody who will listen about how it used to be a parking lot, and my, how quickly things change.
Then, I’ll go take some Metamucil and get in line for the early bird special at the buffet.
Side note: I once had to buy Metamucil and canned gravy. Together. And only those two items. They were for my dog, I swear!