Tonight, I attended an ice skating party in Central Park held by my daughter's school. Outside, it was a crisp February night that gives you the chills; inside, after wrestling two pairs of ice skates onto squirmy little girls while wearing three layers of clothing, it was boiling. On the ice - it was perfect (well almost...you'll see). The dark sky, the brilliant ice, the trees and the skyscrapers surrounding us like a movie set. It's a sight that makes me love living in New York.
As my husband took on the back-breaking duty of skating with a four year-old, one of the other dads struck up a conversation with me. "Do you play street polo?," he asked. That can't be right, I thought, and when I asked him to repeat the question, it turned out he said, "Did you see the Super Bowl?"
Which brings me to the question...WHEN DID THE MUSIC GET SO LOUD? A few weeks ago, I told you I was one all-night computer session away from needing bi-focals, now I'm struck with another sign of aging, the strong desire to say, "Can someone please turn that racket down?" Never mind that I don't recognize most of the songs playing, but could we please turn them down enough so we can hear each other? At a party not so long ago, I felt like a stranger in a foreign land, struggling to understand what a fellow guest was saying, but only comprehending every fifth word or so. You can only say, "excuse me" so many times.
If I were going to write a Jeff Foxworthy style book, "You Know You're 40 when...," this would be right up there.
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