Ma! Look What I Can Do!

It continues to be reitterated to me how similar to an old woman I am. When I think about it, I can pinpoint the exact time it was decided that I was only pretending to be a girl.

When I was in elementary school, the school would hold a fundraiser every year called the Williston Fun Fair. With a name like that, it's gotta be good right? Indeed it was. There were all sorts of games, a maze made out of huge mats, good food, and the most popular, the cake walk. You'd pay for tickets and each game would be a certain amount, blah blah blah. You'd get something worthless as a prize, like a bouncy ball, or a pencil eraser, tootsie pop, etc. That's why the cake walk was so awesome. Would you rather win a plastic ring or a homemade cake? ...So did everyone else. But my first couple of years scoping out what my options were every year, I realized where my true home was. Every year, in the home ec. room across the cafeteria you know what they played alllll night long?

Bingo. Whether you take that as the literal answer, or you guessed that before you read it, and take that as a, "you're right," both apply. I. Love. Bingo.

For my 18th birthday party, while most kids were holding those crazy parties (and we're not talking the guess-how-many-gumballs-in-the-jar parties, ladies and gents...), I held a party during which we played Bingo. We played for a really long time, too. The saddest part? I organized the whole thing. I went to Walmart and got the stupid prizes, I called out the B14s and N33s, and after awhile, before the prizes ran out, my "friends" made excuses and left the party earlier than what was planned. I think they enjoyed themselves for a little bit, but they weren't die-hard like I was. I learned a lesson that night. Don't hold Bingo-themed birthday parties when you turn 18. Luckily, I never turned 18 again. This is when I actually turned from 17 to 45.

And then after this, every time I turned down going out late at night so I could read, and every time I put together a jigsaw puzzle rather than "going downtown" with people my (pretend) age, I turned another year older.

So, today, Christmas Eve 2008...my skin is clear, my heart beats healthily, I have rock hard abs (that's not a lie...but that is...), but I'm actually 78 years old. In 2 years, I have a big birthday, the big 1-0-0. Because between now and then, I will turn down more nights out on the town, and put together more jigsaw puzzles, and maybe even play some more Bingo.

This is when my beloved sister swoops in to rescue me. I don't need rescuing, mind you. I am 100% content getting sore fingertips from putting together the Normal Rockwell puzzle presently. No lie. I stayed up til 1:15am last night doing it, after doing it for about 4 hours. Would you ever see me downtown til 1:15am? Are you CRAZY!?!? I just worked on it for another 3 hours this morning, but I think that in order to have the energy to do more later, I should blog about it and workout. Hence my blogging right now.

The other night a work friend texted me asking if I wanted to "do something tonight to celebrate break." After thanking the Lord that I had the genuine excuse of no longer being in Mass., I texted her back. She said "we should do something when you are back." Now, I could be wrong, but I don't think "do something tonight" means come and help me with my jigsaw puzzle, or do variety puzzle books side by side, while drinking hot chocolate and listening to Amy Grant sing her Christmas gems. How do I know this? Because kids these days! Why, when I was their age, I walked 5 miles to and from school. Generations are a-changin'.

So I said, without hesitation because she might forget, "yeah that'll be fun." But...what if she follows through and asks me when I get back? What do you do when you go to bars?

Let me get back to when Phebe comes in, what a precious gem. I was telling her my worries and doubts, as this 78-year-old body can't do these childish activities. She told me I should go out with her Saturday night, because a bunch of people we know will be downtown and I should go with her and see what it's like. She said I should drive separately and if I hate it, can leave.

Oh and we are certainly sisters. We're definitely not NOT sisters. I told her I wasn't sure how to go to a bar. What is it like? What do I do? How does one get through a night downtown at the bars? She gave me a play by play:

"You drive downtown, you show them your license, they let you in, and then...you talk to people. It's like my wedding, where you talk to people, it's just not at the reception place. It's in a bar."

Really? I could probably handle that.

So, I think I'm actually going to try it Saturday night. Do you think I'll be uncool if I ask Phebe to hold my hand the whole night? Probably? Hm.

Well, who knows. Maybe I'll gain a couple of years from this experience. I'm not talking a decade, let's take it night by night. I have to say, though, the time of night is a little intimidating. She told me it starts at 9. NINE!?!? But I'm usually just putting the border to my puzzle together at that time! Or maybe I'm reading my book in bed at that time! That's so late! She told me to suck it up.

Will I meet a man? I'm not interested in men who hang out in bars. Dang.
Will I drink alcohol? I'm about as interested in alcohol as I am men who hang out in bars. Dang.

I can rest in the fact that my book, jigsaw puzzle, and warm beverage will always be waiting for me at 59 Plateau Road.