Tonight was especially brutal. Not because of the work- I got my ass kicked after the Butler game, but I enjoy the challenge. I am the waitress and the cook so I'm in charge of my destiny.
What made the furrow in my brow deeper was the conversation of a couple that was sitting at the end of the bar. The end where I keep my waitress pad and get drinks. They appeared to be on a first date which is always fun to eavesdrop on. They were in their mid-twenties and full of bluster and bragging. At first it was fun to listen to, the telling of schools and work places. Then the conversation turned to their childhood.
The girl talked about how horrible her parents were and how mistreated she was. How they didn't know how to deal with someone as smart as she was. I was anxious to hear if she was chained in the basement or locked in a closet. Can you guess what torture she was subjected to? She had to mow the lawn! I almost smacked her.
The boy grew up on a farm. Guess what his dad made him do? G0 fishing! Seriously, he was telling how awful it was.
Then the girl started on a whole diatribe about how she was a good student because she was trying to please her parents. Guess what darling, wanting to make your parents proud does not end with report cards.
Damn it, I'm still riled up six hours later. I hope they live happily ever after- and don't have any children.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch....err, bar there was a cute guy that I'd never seen before. He was funny and polite. He grew up in West Lafayette and also attended Purdue University. He was still there at "last call" and the bartender invited him to join us for a drink at the bar down the street.
I was planning on going straight home, but my arm was easily twisted.
Cute boy and I talked politics. He's a political consultant, working for the "other side of the aisle," as they say. I loved that we actually talked about issues and not point fingers. When we were picking out songs on the juke box, he let it slip that he was a guitar player. And it gave me the chance to slip in the nonchalant "I write about music."
I had the nagging feeling that he was younger than me, but quite frankly I was not interested in finding out. Not yet anyway. I was enjoying talking about music, college and the current Farm Bill. I was enjoying his hand on my arm. Then the shoe dropped. A guy in our group asked him where he went to school and when he graduated. 1998. As if that was not horrifying enough, that is when he graduated from HIGH SCHOOL. A mere nineteen years after I did.
Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.