Six p.m. at a restaurant on the Upper East Side, the well-dressed set were out.
Petaluma was a mix of white-haired ladies in crisp white shirts, accessorized with smart, black-framed glasses and loads of chunky jewels, and disheveled parents bribing their children with anything to stay seated. Bread! Look! Bread!
Your dad and I obviously fell into the latter group.
Did you see them drinking martini’s? we said with envy later of the former at home.
The olives were huge…
They were lingering over pasta…
Man, I can’t wait to be old…
When the babies are off at college…!
We can go to dinner…
Then see a show!
Meanwhile, while at the restaurant those civilized tables enjoying martinis were looking at us fondly, as we shoveled in uneaten pasta from our kids’ plates when we could. Aw, aren’t they sweet.
Sweet??? He’s barefoot under the table like an animal. He just nearly cracked my head open with a flashing light-up Star Wars sword??
…While chit-chatting with your teacher yesterday at the school pick-up line, I mentioned a friend of mine recently had a baby we were on our way into the City to see. I told her we never see each other. I never see any of my friends. “Then when we do get together,” I added, “it’s like, this was great, why don’t we do this more? But it just doesn’t happen…”
“Because life happens,” your teacher said.
…So there were these two groups at the restaurant. The young looking to the old, the old remembering their bygone days.
It’s amazing to think of all the life that happens in between.
With that I say, to life, on a Friday…