Thursday, June 09, 2005
The Young Turks
My husband just IMed me: "I got the guns. They are small but the guy said they are better quality and shoot farther." It took me a second to process that. Water guns. Nick's birthday party Saturday. I had to take him to an appointment yesterday so took the afternoon off and we went to the party store afterwards. We got a bunch of Hawaiian-themed luau stuff including a sign with a parrot on it that says "Luau Party." We also got a table skirt made of hula grass, festooned with lei flowers, and a Hawaiian Punch Guy--Punchy to you--hat. The hat is hilarious.
Anyway, back to the Young Turks. They intimidate me with their youth. I have this strange disconnect of really, really not being able to understand that I am older than they are and have a much nicer office. They approach me with this youthful reticent reserve, because I am not one of them. I am a grownup, an adult, an office iguana. I have become an iguana. When I was a young office gal I used to call all the bosses "iguanas" because they looked like wizened old reptiles. Color me iguana.
I broke the ice with Summer Lambchop with a spectacular June Cleaver bellyflop. We had a "pizza day" and the young brooding lad was in the kitchen, his hands buried in his rich brown curly locks. I wanted to say, "Excusez moi, je parle pretentious intellectualle aussi, vraiment!" But instead, since I am such a suave interlocutor, I said, "Did you get some pizza!" and stood there like a cheerful second grade teacher, beaming effusively. He said, "I don't eat cheese." Okay then! I said, "Where's the fun in that!" And walked off diminished, marginalized. Vegan intellectual. Be still old reptilian heart. |
Cynicism is another word for reality