I drank my first vodka martini last night in what I think has honestly been years. Most definitely since before my pregnancy with Maximus and that right there is a very sad state of affairs. I didn't even truly recall how to order the damn thing and if you know me at all, you will be shocked to death at that statement. My best friend in the world will read this and think, "Dude... what the fuck?"
However, it is sadly true. I did recall the vodka I wanted, because I seriously could never forget that. Chopin and I have about an 8 year love affair going, though I think he must feel utterly neglected and alone these days. But when the server had to prompt me as to whether I wanted it up or on the rocks, I was slightly appalled that I did not immediately say, "I'd like a chopin martini, up with olives."
Because that has been my cocktail of choice since I hit my early 30's.
Speaking of my 30's, our babysitter paid me a compliment last night, that if it weren't due to her age would have been more insulting than complimentary if I had any qualms about my birthday or my age.
"It's my birthday dinner," I mentioned to her as we were getting ready to leave.
"When's your birthday?" she asked excitedly.
"Tomorrow..."
"How old are you going to be," she asked both curiously and somewhat apprehensively, as if she was unsure as to whether or not it was ok to ask that question.
"38," I responded, arching a brow and smiling.
"Oh wow! I never would have guessed."
"Yep... I'm going to be 38..."
"No.. I would never ever have guessed you were that old."
There was a moment there, had it been anyone else saying that to me, where I would have responded in a typically sarcastic manner, something like, "Oh thaaaanks!"
But then I realized she is 20 years old and 38 probably seems utterly ancient to someone who can't even buy alcohol legally yet. So, I responded sweetly, "Thank you!"
And then I promptly logged that conversation away to both blog about and tell Moose about as soon as we were out the door. Of course it is entirely fitting, considering I was just blogging about how I didn't realize Stairway to Heaven was that old.
That old.
Dude, I'm not old. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I refuse to believe I have grown up, truly.
I suppose it is nice that my babysitter can't believe I am the age I am and apparently the cashier at Zupan's can't believe it, either. I must take after my mother.
Speaking of Zupan's and getting carded and the loss of my driver's license, remind me to tell you at a later date of the hell that is mine in attempting to replace said driver's license. In post 9/11 US, replacing your driver's license is the ultimate exercise in frustration and dare I say, futility?
