My friend Jim turned 50. We had a big bash at his house, and theme was decorate your own cupcake. That was somewhat incongruous as cupcakes were consumed with beer, whiskey, vodka and oyster shooters. But hey, it was Jim's party!
I was shopping for a card that in a friendly jesting way would joke about turning 50. I found a card that had a "you know are are fifty when..." theme. The very first item was this:
I was shopping for a card that in a friendly jesting way would joke about turning 50. I found a card that had a "you know are are fifty when..." theme. The very first item was this:
"You know you are fifty when you sing along to the elevator music."
Here comes the confession that led to a feeling of embarrassement: Earlier I had done some shopping at Albertson's. The muzak flowed unnoticed in the background, until suddenly - out of the speakers came the opening notes of "Waiting for a star to fall". Boy met girl in 1988, and now Boy meets Girl all over again. The saxophone prelude began, and my palms began to sweat as I was tempted to grab a bottle of shampoo and belt out the lyrics. After all, it may be Joe Albertson's supermarket but the singing aisle is mine (to make a very bad pun on a marketing jingle that most of you probably don't remember).
Anyway, after making my purchases I rushed home to find and download the song. Alas! All I could find was a karaoke version. Not to be deterred, I found the lyrics and sang along as loud as I could. The cat began to hiss, the dog whimpered, the fish in the aquarium hid and I thanked God that Sherry was not home.
Fifty is only a year away for me, and already I'm succumbing to elevator music. Sigh.
